


Cherry Bomb

by AsToldByJess



Category: Good Mythical Morning, Rhett & Link, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cop Rhett, Good Mythical Morning - Freeform, M/M, Prostitute Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsToldByJess/pseuds/AsToldByJess
Summary: Detective Rhett McLaughlin meets an interesting stranger in a bar one night and doesn't think anything of the encounter. But when their paths cross again in the most unfortunate of circumstances, Rhett is forced to re-think the way he's leading his life in the face of a particularly gruesome crime spree that brings him closer to the frustrating yet intriguing Link.





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N:  Rumor has it, good luck comes to those who leave comments or kudos! Better not miss out! (Seriously though, thank you for reading!!)**

_  
_

_red. blue. redblueredblueredblue._

Rhett pushed the dividing curtain aside with an impatient sigh, bending slightly under the doorframe to step from the sanctuary of the quiet bar/pool table area back into the seizure-inducing light pattern of the dance floor. His practiced gaze scanned the room, searching for his co-workers, successfully acquired drinks perspiring in his hands. How had this happened? Or, more accurately, how had he _let_ this happen again? The lead detective could be back at his apartment right now, watching infomercials in his boxers, but no. He’d reluctantly allowed Chase and Jen to drag him out for a drink tonight under the guise of “you’re going to fuse to your recliner, McLaughlin, seriously, you need to get out more.” Rhett huffed. What did they know, anyway?

Finally, he spotted them, short brunette Chase and blonde Jen on the other side of the room. Jen sees him and he waves the best he can while carrying three beers, feeling silly and too old for this. But the thirty-five-year-old indulged his “underlings” nonetheless. They seemed to genuinely enjoy his company and even he begrudgingly admitted that they weren’t bad to hang out with. Rhett made his way back to them, folding his large frame into the booth next to Chase. Of course, the physical trait that made him such an imposing presence to suspects would cause him the most trouble. He handed the deputy detectives their drinks and leaned back, shifting against the hard-back booth.

“So, I get called to this sketchy af park for a “disturbance” and boom! Naked man.” Jen continues the story she had apparently been in the middle of, hands and toned arms moving animatedly as she spoke.

“That’s not so bad,” Chase says, taking a swig of his beer. Jen blinks incredulously at him.

“Dude, he was like _seventy_. Looked like two gross, old peaches—

At this, Chase spits out his drink in a disgusted half-laugh, half-choke. Rhett pats him on the back, chuckling himself.

“Alright, alright!” Chase coughs. “You win.” Rhett shakes his head and looks around. It’s Friday night in low-rent Los Angeles. They’re in a quieter district, in one of the bars in this area known for catering to cops and law enforcement. But this is LA, so it’s still loud. Everything’s too loud, Rhett thinks. This bar. The street outside. This whole goddamn city. But don’t get him started. Rhett’s rants were legendary among his co-workers. 

“Rhett?” Chase prompts, waving a hand in front of the detective’s face. “Earth to boss-man.”

Rhett blinks. “Hmm?”

Chase lets his hand drop and looks at Jen. The blonde laughs. “Geez Rhett, I’m glad you’re not this out of it on the job. We just asked you your funniest patrol story.”

They stare at him expectantly and Rhett has to think. Funny. Right. Was their job funny? Seemed like even the humorous ones Rhett could tell were just more reminders, in one way or another, of how dirty everything here was. How out of place he felt. Of course, it hadn’t always been this way for him, and Rhett searched his memory for something he could share with them.

“Oh! A stripper out of her mind on LSD danced on the hood of my car once.”

“Like just…hopped on up there? What’d you do?!” Chase said.

“Oh yeah. High heels and all. Snatched her off the hood as fast as I could with her screaming that her name was Lucy and she was, and I quote, ‘not to be treated this way, I have a song, I’m a celebrity.’”

Jen wrinkled her brow. After a second, Chase busted out laughing. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds?! For real?”

Rhett laughed and nodded. “I told her I had no idea I was dealing with someone the Beatles themselves named a song after, and I’d get her autograph as soon as we got to the station.” 

Jen and Chase laughed, and they traded stories for a while after that, Rhett mostly just listening and nodding. Eventually, Chase got up to go mingle and attempt to dance. Jen bopped her head to the music and smiled at him across the table, watching him finish off his beer with one more long pull.

“What?”

“Having fun?” she asked sincerely. Rhett shrugged. “You know me.”

Jen snorted. “Yeah, I know you’d rather be at home. But I like it when you come out with us, Rhett.”

“Old man not dragging you down?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “You’re _thirty-five_ , not ninety. We just don’t want you to be lonely, ok?”

Rhett smiled fondly back at her. “I appreciate that, Jen, really. But I’m ok.” He said as convincingly as he could. Because an unmarried thirty-five-year-old who still hadn’t moved past his current rank was totally ok. Who just wanted to go to work and go home and eat. Lather, rinse, repeat. Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” popped into his head suddenly. Yep. Totally ok.

Jen studied him a moment longer but let it drop.

“I’m gonna go see if I can rescue whoever Chase roped into dancing with him, then we can go, kay?”

“Take your time,” Rhett called after her, now sitting awkwardly by himself at the table. He entertained himself with his own thoughts, making up songs in his head and spinning his empty brown bottle on the table. This earned him odd looks, and he stopped. So he’s a grown kid sometimes. Sue him.

Rhett sighed and drummed his fingers on the table. Wrangling Chase appeared to be taking a while, so Rhett figured he probably had time for one more beer. Maybe some wings. And jalapeno poppers. He stood, straightening his red plaid shirt—Browny Man, Stevie teased—and made his way around the crowd to the other world on the other side of the curtain. It was less crowded, and Rhett easily found an empty stool at the end of the bar. He caught the bartender’s attention and held up one finger. The bartender nodded and put down the cup he was cleaning, heading over to the tap. Rhett clasped his hands together into a ball on the bar in front of him and began to whistle idly.

He hoped Jen and Chase were having fun. Really, he did. They were great kids. Honestly, not that much younger than Rhett himself, but the lead detective felt a little responsible for them nonetheless. Maybe that was part of his problem, he mused. Best not to dwell, so Rhett just rubs his eyes. Something brushes against his elbow, and through blurry vision, Rhett sees that someone has slid onto the stool right. Beside. Him.

Oh, great. He thinks, cringing internally. Why couldn’t urinal etiquette apply to other places? Always leave a space between. But the intruder of his personal space—a man, it seems—doesn’t agree. He asks for a drink in a casual, polite tone. Rhett’s bottle has arrived by now so he focuses on it, desperately wishing he had downloaded one of those games Alex keeps sending him on his phone. But Rhett feels someone’s gaze on him. His training has left him too hyper-aware to not recognize that feeling. He snaps his head to the right to find a pair of blue eyes staring back at him behind black framed glasses. The guy has dark hair that curls over his ears and bangs that sweep across his forehead. He’s young, wearing dark-wash skinny jeans with black boots, and a Pink Floyd t-shirt under a black jean jacket. Rhett takes the information in, scans in his mind like the Terminator (a secret he’ll keep to himself). His eyes dart around the man rapidly, logging basic information out of habit. He’s been told it’s intense and a little disarming.

“Starin’ a hole in that bottle, were you.”

Rhett snaps out of it. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess.”  Rhett turns back to his drink, trying to keep his words short and clipped. Deter interaction at all cost. But the other man is…undeterred.

“Been one of those nights?” he continues, voice sympathetic and smooth. Rhett looks at him again. Did he detect an accent? His eyes stay on Rhett, brows lifted in question, mouth curved in a slight, friendly smile. He’s handsome, Rhett thinks detachedly, with his solid blue eyes, black hair, and slightly tan skin.

Rhett shrugs coolly. “Been ok. Just having a drink.” He hopes the dude takes the hint. But alas, his new “friend” plunges on, unfazed, raising his own drink—a colorful Cherry Bomb.

“I hear that. So…you’re a cop?”

Rhett freezes. The guy laughs lightly, brushing bangs out of his face.

“So that a yes?”

Rhett only grunts in response. The dark-haired man smirks behind his glass and is silent for a while.

“That obvious?” Rhett says, curious now despite himself. The man pushes his glasses further up his nose. He looks pleased. 

“A little, man. The way you’re sitting, watching everything. Whiskey and beer. The haircut and clothes. And—

“Got it, got it,” Rhett cuts in, holding his palms up in a halting gesture. The guy laughs again and it’s not unpleasant to Rhett’s ear. If he’s going to be bothered, Rhett reasons, at least the chatterbox is easy on the eyes.

“Link,” he says, holding out a hand. He turns to fully face Rhett now, one elbow leaning on the bar, one foot propped on the stool beams, the other leg hanging casually.

“Rhett.” Rhett keeps himself protected but cautiously takes the offered hand. It squeezes back gently, letting go when Rhett pulls away. Rhett thinks he may have imagined the quick brush of a thumb over his wrist. 

“Pink Floyd fan?” Rhett motions towards the guy’s— _Link’s_ —shirt. Link looks down, as if he suddenly forgot what he was wearing, and tugs at the shirt self-consciously.

“Ha, yeah. I mean, I’m no aficionado, but they’re cool.”

Ok. Link might be alright after all.

Rhett watches him pick his drink back up and use a napkin to wipe the condensation ring off the bar.

Link catches him staring and looks away abashedly. It’s…endearing.

“Neat freak?” Rhett probs knowingly.

Link shrugs shyly. “Maybe just a little.” He swipes at those bangs again. Rhett breathes an amused laugh through his nose. He has already finished this beer and twists around to look back towards the lights and music. Where the hell were Jen and Chase?

“Looking for someone?” Link asks.

Rhett glances at him. “Yeah, I came with some coworkers. They must’ve got lost.” 

“Hm. Too bad. Guess I’ll just have to keep you company.” He says brightly, gesturing grandly—and little dorkily--to himself. Rhett smirks. That might be ok, he’s beginning to think.

They slip into a conversation about music, hobbies, and movies. He makes Link laugh, and Link actually makes him laugh, too. And if Link is leaning in to hear Rhett better, tilts his head to the side, lets his knee brush Rhett’s…well. This is easy. He tries not to think about it too much, and that’s getting easier too as the night wears on. Rhett unconsciously begins to loosen up. Link waves away Rhett’s offer for another drink, making a face and placing a hand over his stomach.

“I’m good.” He licks the remaining bright red liquid from his lips and Rhett’s heart skips a beat. His eyes then spot something at the bottom of Link’s glass.

“You don’t eat cherries?”

Link rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like things in my drinks.”

Rhett blinks at him. “You ordered a Cherry Bomb, man.”

“Chunks don’t belong in liquid things.” Link answered with surprising conviction. Rhett chortled and Link gave him a side-eye.

“So you from around here?”

Rhett shifts, slightly defensive again. Never tell anyone too much. Even this pretty stranger with a windchime laugh.

“Uh, yeah. Around,” Rhett gestures vaguely.

Link squints and Rhett doesn’t break eye contact as he finishes his last beer of the night. He likes when people try to figure him out.

“You?” Rhett returns casually.

Link shrugs. “Around.”

Rhett rolls his eyes.

“What, you the only one allowed to be mysterious?” Link mocks, voice going deep as he does air quotes around “mysterious.”

Rhett wipes beer froth from his mustache, another grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I really should go find my crew.”

“Yeesh, is my company that bad?” Link’s nose crinkles cutely and Rhett makes himself look away.

“No.” And it’s true. But it’s late, and Rhett’s tired despite the fact that it’s Friday and he doesn’t have to be up at too-early-o’fucking-clock in the morning to catch scumbags.

“Then stay,” Link states simply, a velvety softness at the edge of his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I can make it worth your while.” Breath ghosts over his ear and an involuntary shiver goes up his spine. Fingertips brush his thigh. Rhett’s alcohol-laden head begins to swim. The detective sucks in a quick breath and pulls back slightly to look at the other man. Link is smiling sweetly, and this close, Rhett can tell now that he is not as young as Rhett originally thought. He has curls and a boyish face, but the intelligent gleam in his eyes gives him away.

“I…really should go,” Rhett clears his throat. “They’re probably looking for me.”

Link pouts prettily and leans back; Rhett welcomes the space between them now that lets him breathe. “I, ah…sorry.”

Link lets his shoulder rise and fall. “My loss.” He gets up and walks off, and Rhett can’t help but sneak a peek at the roundness of his ass, the shape of his legs, the slight sway of his hips. Rhett bites back a whine and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He is surprised to find a missed text from Jen from about an hour ago. Had they been talking that long?

_Hey, leaving with Chase, he’s puking, can’t find u. Let me know when u get home ok._

Rhett growls in annoyance and grabs his jacket. Welp, this night is a bust all around. He opens the bar’s side exit and steps out into the cool night air that signals the beginning of Autumn. Or as close to Autumn as California is going to get. Rhett yawns and is contemplating getting a taxi when a movement from the shadows startles him. Instinctively, Rhett draws himself up to his full height and balls his fists.

“Who’s there?” he commands in his “cop voice.” An amused snort is the response and for some reason, Rhett knows to unclench his hands.

“Why are you so jumpy, man?” Link says from his leaning place on the brick ally wall.

“Why are _you_ hanging out in the dark like a freaking psycho?!” Rhett counters. Link shrugs.

“Just call me Deep Throat,” he responds, and Rhett loses it then, a rough laugh from deep in his belly making its way up.

Link giggles at his reaction. In his pocket, Rhett’s text notification pings at him. He straightens up, still grinning as he reads the text. It’s Chase, apologizing for he and Jen’s sudden departure and asking if Rhett is all right. Rhett fidgets with his phone and glances at Link. He is waiting patiently and gives Rhett an easy, lopsided smile. With more confidence than he’s mustered about anything in a while, Rhett texts back a quick _“All good”_ before dropping his phone back in his jacket. He runs his tongue over dry lips and looks Link up and down.

“Something on your mind, officer?” Link inquires, a mischievous lilt to his tone and fake innocence in his eyes that has no business being there. The taller man suppresses another shiver at the re-emergence of the smooth, slightly twangy voice. He’s not from here, Rhett’s sure of it now. That’s a Southern accent if he’s ever heard one. And he’d know.

Rhett’s eyes flicker to Link’s bow-shaped mouth. “Detective,” Rhett corrects automatically, voice slightly husky, breath warming the air between them.

“Detective, then,” Link amends; he goes to fix those damn bangs again, and without thinking, Rhett reaches for him, fingertips brushing dark locks from Link’s blue eyes. Rhett leans in, bringing his hand from Link’s temple to cup his face, heart pounding in his chest.

 _The fuck am I doing?_ Link’s gaze is boring into his now, patient, curious. 

His other hand slides under Link’s jacket to rest on his hip. Link’s long lashes flutter shut as he sighs, and that’s all it takes. Rhett bends down and captures his mouth, drawing the shorter man close when he feels Link hum pleasantly against his lips. The hand cradling Link’s face slips to the back of his neck. Link makes a sound—actually _moans_ \---and it goes straight to Rhett’s cock. It has not escaped him that they are still out in the open, albeit under the half-shadows of a street light. Link’s hands grip Rhett’s biceps and though it physically pains to do so, Rhett breaks the kiss that tastes like cherries and every bad decision Rhett has ever made. Chest heaving, he takes in Link’s flushed cheeks and the sultry haze in his eyes.

“Your place or mine, handsome?” Link asks, slightly breathless. Rhett’s mind goes to a thousand places at once. He wants this man— _God_ , does he want this man right now. And all he can think is that is _has_ been a while…

“I don’t wanna stop,” Rhett blurts out.

Link grins devilishly and loops his fingers in Rhett’s jeans, yanking him forward again. “Then don’t.”

Fuck it, Stevie would be proud. Jen may actually faint.

“Alright. Yep, come on.”

They giggle like teenagers, close and conspiratorially with their arms around each other as Rhett guides them to his apartment. Once inside, hands shaking, high on adrenaline and booze, Rhett pushes Link against the door and drags his teeth against beautiful collarbones. Link closes his eyes and tilts his head back to give the detective better access, wrapping one leg around Rhett’s calf. Rhett pulls back when he feels the hand entangled in his hair tug slightly.

“Not that I’m above going to my knees right here,” Link says. Rhett’s mind nearly goes white.

“But we need to move this party along before…

He swirls his hips against Rhett’s in an absolutely filthy move, and Rhett exhales shakily.

“Got it. Go.”

Links snorts and allows himself to be moved.

…

Rhett wakes the next morning and is certain he must be dead and in Hell. It’s the only thing that would account for his sticky eyelids and pounding temples. He groans and flings an arm across his eyes to block out the harsh mid-morning sunlight. But there’s…something else. An aftertaste behind the gross balmy feeling in his mouth. Rhett rubs his lips together.

Fruity. _Cherries_. Blue eyes and soft lips and breathy gasps in the dark—yes. It’s all coming back to him now. But a good time with a handsome stranger is not the worst thing he’s ever done, he reasons, even as his bones protest putting weight on them this morning. He yawns, running his hand through messy hair. Coffee. Coffee would be nice. Coffee and then a nice, _long_ shower where he may or may not close his eyes and think about—

Rhett pauses, eye catching his wallet on the coffee table. It’s open. Mouth dry as sand, he runs over and flips through it. He notes in relief his ID and credit cards safely in place.

But the hidden pocket that had previously held $100 emergency cash is currently as empty as can be.

…

One floor down, in the midst of enjoying her own quiet Saturday morning, Rhett’s neighbor sits up straight in bed, startled out of sleep by the aloof but polite detective she’s only met a few times suddenly screaming “SON OF A BITCH!” at the top of his lungs, over and over.

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

That’s it. He’s just never having sex again, Rhett’s decided. This is what happens when he tries to be anything other than a grumpy recluse. Start over somewhere. Change his name. Become a woodworker in the mountains of some obscure little Mexican village. Yep. That sounds right. It especially sounds good right about now on this Monday morning as he strolls in late into the office. He’d spent the weekend nursing his stomach and his pride and overslept, mostly because he seriously contemplated just not coming in.

 

“Rhett!” the detective winces at the sound of Jen’s voice, breaking away from the group surrounding the break room coffee pot.

 

“Hey! Listen, I’m really sorry about Friday, Chase had a little too much and just wasn’t feeling good and I just figured you could take care of yourse—

 

“Jen, Jen,” Rhett holds up a hand and chuckles fondly at her. “It’s okay, really. I made it home. I’m a cop who has survived LA this long. I can get myself home.”

 

She relaxes but then watches him sink into his desk chair with a grumble. She quirks an eyebrow. “You had like, two beers. Two days ago.”

 

He laughs half-heartedly. “Not the college student I used to be, Jen.”

 

She eyes him. “No…but I’ve seen you drink before, Rhett. You were late this morning and you’ve got That Look.”

 

“That “Leave me Alone” look?” he deadpans back at her.

 

She crosses here arms and taps her chin with one finger. He rolls his eyes at her dramatics, then rubs his temples with two fingers.

 

“Look, we—I! I MEANT “I”! Just me!”

 

But the damage is done and he watches in horror as Jen’s eyes go wide as she puts the pieces together. Her hand flies to her mouth to cover a gasp.

 

Shit.

 

“I said “I” Jen, it was just a mistake, please don’t—

 

“You guys!!” Jen calls to their co-workers, and the gaggle of them come over. Chase is eating a bagel, Stevie and Alex on his heels.

 

“What’s up?” Stevie looks questioningly back and forth between Rhett and Jen.

 

“NOTHING!” Rhett says, at the same time Jen exclaims “RHETT HOOKED UP!”

 

The next 30 seconds is a cacophony of gasps, squeals, and “no ways.” Rhett would be a little offended at their disbelief of him getting laid if he weren’t so mortified.

 

“Who made the first move?”

 

“What’s their name? What did they look like?”

 

“Who went home with who?”

 

“Were they freaky?” (that one from Chase).

 

Rhett drops his face into his hands. Nope, he was wrong. _This_ is Hell.

 

“There’s nothing to tell.” Rhett whines. No one pays him any mind. Stevie comes around to the front of the desk so that she’s facing him, leaning forward, palms on the desk. She studies him intently, a Cheshire grin on her face.

 

“It was a dude, everyone,” she concludes after a moment, eyes never leaving Rhett as everyone else laughs and cheers excitedly.

 

Damn. She’s too good, Rhett should have known. Though she didn’t get her current position by being dumb, Rhett reasons bluntly to himself. None of them did. But Stevie has always been just a bit more savvy than the rest of them, and Rhett is secretly the proudest of her.

 

Just not right at this moment.

 

Her careful gaze continues to scrutinize him. He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, a challenging smile on his lips.

 

“Hmm. But that’s not why you’re being so weird about it.” 

 

Rhett shrugs. “Maybe I like my privacy.”

 

Stevie slowly shakes her head, moving a long strand of blonde hair to the side. Rhett swallows at the way the movement reminds him of…someone else with the same habit. “No. This isn’t just being a stick in the mud, you’re being sketchy, so…you must regret it. But why?”

 

“Why indeed?” Rhett responds flatly.

 

“It’s no one we know, or you’d really be freaking out. But no one cares that you like dick so—

 

“Because _you_ know _all_ about that,” Rhett counters with a snicker.

 

“Shush,” she waves him away. “No one thinks that’s _scandalous_ , so what’s the deal?”

 

“Are you going to call them?” Alex says from somewhere near him.

 

“No,” Rhett says quickly. A little too quickly, maybe.

 

“So you’re being cagey about a one-night stand with someone we don’t know?” Chase summarizes doubtfully.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Rhett says noncommittally, swiveling in his chair to boot up his computer. The rest of them take this as their cue that he’s done talking about it and scurry off to their various corners of the office to begin their own work days. They’ll catch up on paperwork, do patrols, and wait for Rhett to dole out responsibilities as needed.

 

Rhett looks up from his desk to see Stevie still there, having moved to perch on the corner.

 

“So no second date, I assume?” she probes, and perhaps there’s a little disappointment from her on his behalf.

 

He scratches his beard and gives her a wry look. “Nope, don’t think there will be, Stevie.” No way he’s letting her know that her superior was stupid enough to let himself get robbed by a random guy he brought home from a bar. He’ll take it to the grave if he can. Not that he’s being a baby about it. Not at all.

 

She hums and hops off the desk, and just when he thinks he’s off the hook, she looks around and leans down close to him.

 

“Was he hot? Like, was he at least…you know…fun?”

 

Rhett pauses and almost lets his mind wonder too much back to…back to Link.

 

Stevie’s looking at him like he’s about to drop the hottest high school gossip. He relieves her with an affirmative, sly wink. She slaps his shoulder and giggles as she grabs a file on the way to her desk. 

 

Rhett waits until she’s gone, and then he slumps his in chair and rubs his eyes. He peeks through his fingers to check the clock.

 

 _Fuck_ , it was gonna be a long day.

 

…

 

Rhett was different. He knew that. Unlike any of the peers he’d met so far, he was a transplant from the faraway land of North Carolina, a place most Los Angeles natives wouldn’t in a million years think of moving to. They preferred their starless sky and artificial tans and whatever godawful shrubbery was the new diet fad. Rhett often looked out the window and dreamed of Cape Fear River and the endless dirt paths that held his bicycle tracks and barefoot prints. Not that LA hadn’t been good to him, he had to admit. He’d been able to have an adventure here that was all his own; LAPD gave him a job, promotions, and a chance to spread his wings beyond the confines of tiny little Buies Creek. But it was an adjustment, and still was in a lot of ways. He wasn’t prepared for the skeevy nastiness of crime in Los Angeles. So he adapted. He adjusted his attitude and personality to what he needed to be to survive here, and his natural drive, ambition, work ethic, down to earth and witty sense of humor sent him on his way to the top.

 

He’d be Lieutenant very soon, in fact, if a series of back-related medical issues and several mental walls in a row hadn’t turned his life completely upside-down, culminating in an embarrassing panic attack at work. In front of his co-workers. He’d transferred to this current office as a lead detective amid sneers about how the favored Mclaughlin was just a naïve hick who couldn’t handle the pressure. But as his grandmother always said, blessings come in disguise, and he’d found somewhat of a makeshift, ragtag family here in this station with the addition of new detectives and entry level deputies to supervise. So Rhett was…content. Happy was a strong word. But he was content, and he could live with that.

 

And if he couldn’t sleep at night sometimes, well, the others didn’t need to know that.

…

 

He made it to Wednesday—grueling, blessed hump-day—still licking his wounds but mostly intact. Rhett needed something to break up the week, to take his mind off waking up with morning wood for the dude that had _stolen_ from him. Most of Wednesday passed with surprisingly little action for LA, but just as Rhett was about to drive a penknife into his eye in frustration, a call came in.

 

Corner of 2nd and 3rd, near the gas station. Rhett recognized the area and immediately guessed what this was about.

 

Drug deal gone bad. Angry pimp. Take your pick.

 

Rhett was half-right. Assault on a woman hanging out in a run-down abandoned mattress store.

 

Rhett took Stevie with him and sent Chase and Jen to talk to witnesses. Usually, females responded better to short, calm-voiced Stevie as opposed to gentle but huge Rhett, but this time their victim was fighting as soon as they arrived on scene. The ambulance workers backed off as soon as they saw the detectives arrive, patience having worn thin. 

 

“What’s going on?” Rhett asked the responding officer while Stevie spoke to EMS.

 

“We got a call from a delivery truck driver about a woman darting out in front of his truck. Said she was bleeding and behaving erratically, so he called us. We arrived on scene to find her unconscious and we were assessing her when she woke up swinging. EMS can’t get her on the gurney. She’s fuckin’ coked out or something, probably fell and did it to herself. Don’t know why we need to be here,” he grumbled.

 

Rhett thanked him and headed over to the small, pale redhead at the center of the chaos. Stevie was trying to calm her, but the woman was screaming for everyone to stay back. Rhett could see now that she had a fresh, bleeding gash starting at her cheek and going down her clavicle.

 

“Give her some room!” Rhett ordered, and everyone but he and Stevie fell back. The woman watched them both with wild eyes. Rhett took one step towards her and when it looked like she was going to run, he held up his hands and stopped.

 

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” her voice trembled as she screamed. She was terrified, that much was obvious to Rhett. He knelt down where he stood to make himself less imposing, hands still visible.

 

“Hey,” he said as quietly as possible. He has found that speaking in a softer voice forces people to be quiet and calm down so they can hear you. The woman was at least focusing on him a little better now.

 

“I’m Detective Rhett Mclaughlin,” he said slowly, pointing to his chest. “And this,” he said, nodding his head towards Stevie “Is Detective Stevie Levine.” His partner smiled warmly at the woman. She eyed Stevie warily.

 

“Can I ask your name?” Rhett inquired. “Just so we know what’s going on and who everyone is. See, we just got here and we’re trying to figure out how to help you.” The young woman’s breathing calmed slightly as she regarded them both.

 

She may be tweaking, Rhett observed, noting her darting eyes and sores on her arms. With the addition of the facial injury, she painted a sad picture.

 

“I—I’m Iris,” she finally allowed, though Rhett would bet the $100 he no longer had that it wasn’t her real name. They never give their real names.

 

“Okay, Iris,” Rhett said softly, offering a smile. “First thing’s first, that looks like it hurts,” Rhett said, pointing to his own face for reference. She copied him, raising her hand to her wound, cringing at the contact.

 

“I’ll make a deal with you; you just let EMS patch you up and we won’t force you to do anything else,” Rhett said casually.

 

She mumbled to herself, finally giving Rhett a listless nod.

 

He left her with Stevie and EMS. The warm California wind made him regret his jacket and boots, though he was grateful for the latter when he caught up with Chase. The round-faced young man was carefully walking out of the mattress store, dodging broken glass.

 

“Dude, there’s like a hundred needles and broken blades in there,” he informed his lead, jerking his head towards the door. Rhett chewed his lip thoughtfully.

 

“CSI testing the floor for evidence?”

 

Chase shrugged. “They don’t even want to go _in_ there. They’re gonna spray and turn out the lights but I’m betting they’ll find more DNA than backstage at a Zeppelin concert.”

 

Jen made a fake gagging noise, and Rhett shook his head and made his way back to Stevie and their victim, who was much calmer and nearly done getting a patch-job by an EMT.

 

“She won’t go to the hospital,” Stevie whispered to him. “She’s also dodging questions.” Rhett nodded to her and gave Iris another smile.

 

“Can you tell us anything at all that might help us help you?”

 

Silence.

 

“Do you remember anything?”

 

Silence and fidgeting.

 

Rhett sighed and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. “Hey, we don’t care if you’re, y’know, a working girl.”

 

Her body stilled, eyes growing in panic.

 

“We really don’t,” he continued. “We just want to find who did this to you.”

 

She seemed to consider this. Rhett hoped his oaky voice has broken through the smack coursing through her veins, but then the EMT announced that he was finished, and she jumped down from the back of the truck.

 

“I’m going. You said I could go and I am.” She crossed her arms.

 

“I did,” Rhett agreed. “But you’re obviously not safe out here, how do you know—

 

“Look, I need to go now.” She’s off again and Rhett doesn’t chase her.

 

Stevie comes up beside him. “We have to do something. Isn’t there something we can arrest her for? She’s obviously hooking and using out here, maybe—

 

“Prove it.” Rhett said. “She didn’t have drugs _on_ her and she won’t even admit that a crime took place. We have neither evidence nor a complaining witness.”

 

Stevie sighs in frustration. “So there’s nothing we can do.”

 

Rhett watches the woman’s retreating figure. He then gives Stevie’s shoulder a squeeze, turning to head back to the car.

 

…

 

Rhett taps his pen against his desk, leg bouncing restlessly under his desk. In the week since the strange call about the injured woman, they’d gotten a couple similar ones from within a 10 mile radius. Women getting attacked in LA? Nothing unusual. Similar elements all this close together? Rhett’s ears perked up, and though the police officers usually handled them unless evidence of something bigger became apparent, Rhett had taken up a vague interest. In his down time at his desk, he found himself writing down where and when the incidents took place. There didn’t seem to be too much of a pattern and Rhett was most likely overthinking it. Still.

 

What the detective _didn’t_ expect at 11am on a Friday morning as he rounded the corner with a mug of coffee was to be confronted with a scene in front of the stairwell leading to the temporary holding cells used mainly as a drunk tank. Rhett furrowed his brow and quickened his pace, preparing to assist. Normally, the threat of his size was enough to calm people down and Rhett’s voice boomed over the two struggling officers and their detainee.

 

“HEY! Easy!”

 

The person currently straining against his cuffs whipped his head up, and Rhett was suddenly confronted with a mess of coal-black hair and askew glasses. But what stopped him cold was Link’s eyes, fiery and hateful and starring daggers at Rhett. Until something flickered across his face—recognition, familiarity—and he stopped fighting.  

 

“Thanks, Rhett,” one officer said. Rhett could only nod, eyes still on Link, brain desperately racing to catch up with what was happening right now. Link ran his tongue along his injured lip and regarded Rhett, a slow, sinister smile stretching across his face.

 

“I think we got it from here, boss. He’s part of a hustling bust picked up on Greenview.” 

 

 Rhett didn’t even register his cup slipping out of his hand until shattered glass and coffee splattered the tile floor.

 

…

 

After mumbling a barely coherent excuse about having to go downstairs anyway, Rhett currently had a handcuffed Link by the elbow, guiding him down the stairs. When they’d gotten far enough away and were alone, Rhett spun the other man around and grabbed him by the lapels, shoving him against the wall.

 

“You’re a goddamn _prostitute_?” Rhett hissed furiously.

 

“Well I’m sure not doing all this fucking for free, that’s for damn sure.” Link replied, wincing at the uncomfortable position his arms were stuck in.

 

Rhett’s mind raced. How had he missed this? Link hadn’t been particularly aggressive. Not like other hustlers Rhett had come across. But…the way Link had just come up to him and started a conversation…maybe a little too eagerly. A little too practiced. Looked a little out of place in that outfit in that bar that Rhett now realizes he’d never seen Link at before. The way he’d leaned in, kept brushing Rhett’s thigh. Sprinkled personal questions in with normal banter. Kept vague about his own background. How he was so willing to go home with Rhett. Goddammit. How could he be so reckless? How could he be so _stupid_?

 

 “You’ve gotta be fucking _kidding_ me.” Rhett said mostly to himself, running a hand down his face. This isn’t happening. Rhett might vomit.

 

“Hey, brother? You wanna have your self-loathing fest another time and do something about these?” Link rattled the metal restraints behind him.

 

“No. You’re going into a cell. Come on.” Rhett recovered just enough to reach for Link’s arm again.

 

“And you robbed me,” Rhett added.

 

“And _you_ had sex with a prostitute, _officer_ ,” Link reminded, velvety smooth, similar to the voice that had ensnared Rhett, but with an unsettling sharpness. The detective’s stomach dropped, and he froze.

 

“That’s just a fact.” Link continued with a wicked-half smirk. “Now, you want me to keep that between us, maybe we can help each other out here…”

 

Before he could stop himself, Rhett had Link by the base of his throat with one large hand, pulse pounding in his ears. His green eyes flashed, inches from Link’s face.

 

“The hell you just say to me?” Rhett growled lowly. Dangerously. He could see Link’s eyes study him, feel his Adam’s apple bob under his palm as Link swallowed. Link notched his chin.

 

“I suggest you get me out of here,” he responded simply. Rhett fixed Link in a seething glare. Link continued to regard him coolly.

 

Finally, Rhett released him and brought him to the cell, unceremoniously shoving him in. “I need a little while to “lose” your paperwork,” Rhett explained, defeated and pissed as he freed Link’s wrist form the handcuffs. Rhett glanced at him.

 

“There’s nothing I want more than to put my fist through your face right now, but it looks like someone who deserves an award beat me to it.”

 

Link scoffed. “Courtesy of your boys in blue out there. I wasn’t even trying to hook at the moment, mind you. I was tryin’ to find my friend.”

 

Rhett rolled his eyes. “I’m very sure. Now wait here and shut your fucking mouth,” he instructed, shoving the cuffs in his pocket.

 

“You loved my mouth.” Link mumbled absently, inspecting his arms and rubbing his wrist where the cuffs left a mark.

 

Rhett turned slowly back to Link, and with one hand clenched at his side, raised the other to point.

 

“Don’t.” 

 

Link raised three fingers in the Scout Solute and then crossed his heart.

 

Rhett glared at him one more time before ascending the stairs on legs that felt like they were going to go out from under him any second. What just happened. He was being… _blackmailed_. By a sex worker he’d slept with on accident. Rhett stopped on the second flight of stairs and sank down.

 

“Couldn't have just stayed in Buies Creek, could you McLaughlin?”

 

Downstairs, Link whistled contentedly, the echoes bouncing off the walls and into Rhett’s ears.

 

…

 

**A/N: Thanks for reading!! Don’t forget to click that kudos, and thank you so much to those who comment! Still fairly new at this so feedback is more than welcome! <3 Looking at a once a week update schedule, will shoot for twice as time allows!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rhett’s eyes traced the outline of the ceiling fan in the dark, the wooden blades gently wafting room-temp air back down at him. From his current place on his bedroom floor, Rhett sighs and tucks one arm under his head. The street lamps outside cast a florescent glow through his window, and if sirens and random gunshots weren’t providing the soundtrack, Rhett could almost pretend it’s the North Carolina moonlight streaming through, and he’s spending another warm summer night on his screened in back porch instead of on the floor in Los Angeles. But it’s not late-night nostalgic ponderings that have the detective stretched out on his carpet; no, it’s plain old lumbar problems, not soothed by his overly soft mattress.

 

Rhett shifted and adjusted the pillow under him, finally just grabbing it and throwing it across the room in frustration. God, but when did he get so… _old_? Was it when he came across his first senseless shooting? Some kid caught in a crossfire, the other officers’ jaded eyes looking into Rhett’s as if to say, “get used to it”? Was it when he slipped the first disk in his back, a lower one, so that his whole 6’7 frame rested painfully on it? Or maybe it was when he actually believed that a funny, good-looking man had genuinely taken an interest in him.

 

Either way, Rhett was the kind of awake that he knew meant sleep wasn’t stopping by his place tonight. So, feeling like he’s got weights tied to him, Rhett slowly picks himself up off the floor and twists his body left and right, eternally searching for the _pop!_ that would relieve his pain. He gets dressed without bothering with his hair and pulls on a jacket and boots and fills up his coffee thermos. It’s late by Rhett’s internal clock, but LA is just getting started and the tall man has to avoid drunks and vacationers who don’t seem to realize that Los Angeles was not created just for them to escape reality for a few days and people do in fact live here.

 

Rhett shoves his free hand in his pocket. He glances up at the endless apartments and townhomes that line the streets and lets his sleep deprived thoughts wonder. There are people in there, living their own little lives, dreaming their own little dreams. Rhett has sworn to protect them but will never see a fraction of their faces, will never know their names. As it does most directionless nights, muscle memory kicks in and Rhett’s feet take him to the station. He flicks on a light and says a “hello?” out of curtesy, though he is usually one of the only ones here like this on a weekend night. He rubs his hands over his ruddy face and thinks of a reason to be here. He opens a drawer and takes out a file.

 

Six attacks so far. All females. Four of them prostitutes, though Rhett has a hunch that the other two were meant to follow the same suite and were a case of mistaken identity. All with slits down their faces, unsure and shallow in the beginning, but gaining proficiency with the later incidents. Perp is definitely male, possibly young and/or inexperienced, though Rhett has no doubt he’s dabbled in violence before. Rhett can’t believe a problem hasn’t been declared, though he supposes things like this are barely a blip on LA’s radar. Rhett closes the file and scratches his beard. In the middle of a yawn, the work phone he keeps strapped to his belt screeches at him. 

 

He startles slightly and answers. 

 

“Detective McLaughlin, Second Precinct.”

 

Rhett listens and takes quick mental notes. Warehouse District. Deceased female, early to mid-twenties, reason to suspect foul play. Rhett grabs his long jacket and begins dialing Stevie’s number as soon as he hands up with dispatch.

 

“Hello?” a voice pulled from deep sleep answers. Rhett can almost picture it, Stevie turning in her partner’s arms to drowsily answer her phone. Rhett hates to bother people who actually have a life.

 

“Wakey wakey, kiddo, need you down by the warehouses back behind the docks.”

 

“On the way.” The blonde detective answers, voice sharp and alert. Rhett gives the phone a small, fond smile and hooks it back on his pocket.

 

…

 

Fifteen minutes later, Rhett is standing next to his car with Stevie at the entrance to the warehouse complex, waiting for Chase and Jen. Alex, whose main position is with CSI, is already at the scene.

 

“This is actually a great place to dump a body.” Stevie notes casually.

 

Rhett turns slowly to look at her and she just shrugs. Rhett shakes his head as Chase and Jen pull up, the former with a serious case of bedhead and the latter covering a yawn with her hand.

 

“Sorry to ruin your weekends,” Rhett says as they begin walking to the crowd surrounding the storage unit.

 

Jen shrugs good-naturedly. “It’s not your fault. Unless _you_ killed her. Then I’d say there’s easier ways to get us all together.” Chase hums a sleepy agreement.

 

Stevie snorts and hands out gloves.

 

“In there, to the left of the entrance,” the head CSI directs on his way out. Rhett nods and turns on his large policeman’s flashlight. It’s dark, and the circular light falls on long-abandoned items and objects. Rhett slowly turns the flashlight until it lands on her.

 

When it does, it’s jarring. Stevie draws in a quick breath next to him, and the others go quiet. She’s as described. Young, thin, white, red hair. But there is also a jagged, deep slit across her pale neck.

 

“Throat’s been slit,” Rhett mumbles, taking inventory of the surrounding area. “Stevie, go talk to the uniforms; Chase, go talk to the unit owner, Jen, help me out in here.” They disperse, and Rhett sets to work. Jen walks around the inside of the large space, looking for anything possibly dropped or left behind. Rhett kneels down next to their victim. She’s been gone a little while, he can tell. She’s wearing a low-cut t-shirt and shorts despite the slightly cool temperatures. Red lipstick fading and cracking on her lips. Rhett gently moves aside her soiled hair to see her face better and immediately freezes.

 

His eyes follow a half-healed scar that starts at her cheek and goes down to her collarbone, nearly joining with the harsh, violent throat wound like a red estuary.

 

…

 

Rhett sends everyone home to enjoy what’s left of their Sunday after the city comes to collect the body. Chase mumbles something about going back to bed and Jen and Stevie moan about grocery shopping.

 

“Pfft, grocery shopping,” Chase dismisses.

 

“Single men mystify me.” Jen states.

 

“Hey, don’t knock the tv dinner life,” Chase defends. “Right, Rhett? Single guys unite?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, you know it.” Rhett lifts his hand and high-fives Chase in solidarity. They get to their cars and part ways among debates of cooking vs. microwavable meals.

 

Rhett’s mind is buzzing. It’s still late—or early—the night still blackening the sky. It’ll be a few more hours yet before the good people of LA are up and on their way to church or synagogue or whatever to wash away the weekend’s sins. But Rhett doesn’t go home. He drives aimlessly, fingers tapping the steering wheel as his thoughts race. Prostitutes get murdered all the time. But something in Rhett’s gut says no way. No way it’s not connected. It’s too big of a coincidence. Something about the slashing…the nature of the wounds, the anger, the pattern. Hell, Rhett would bet it’s even the same knife. But maybe he’s getting ahead of himself.

 

Rhett sighs and rubs on hand down his face. He should sleep, he knows. Or try to. But just as he’s about to drive through a McDonalds for some coffee to take home, a thought strikes him so hard he slams on the breaks and wheels into an empty parking lot. The girl was a prostitute.

 

Rhett swallows and glances at the file in the passenger seat, and a hunch blooms in the back of his mind, accompanied by a phrase said in the last voice he wants to ever hear again.

 

_I was looking for my friend._

 

Rhett leans his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

 

_Why. Why me?_

 

Rhett swears and gets back on the main road, heading the opposite direction.

 

…

 

Rhett cruises through the grimy streets of this part of town, noting the way people avert his gaze, hide their faces, walk away briskly, or just plain darting off. It always makes Rhett feel a bit like a land shark, the way the streets just part for him. Like everyone just knows he’s a cop.

 

But he’s actually on a mission, now. He spots them on the corners, in allies, getting in and out of cars. They’ll be going home soon to sleep, the peak window for their line of work closing fast. Rhett just hopes he hasn’t missed him but also suddenly realizes he has no idea where to look, if—

 

Rhett’s mouth goes dry. There he is, leaning into a car. Rhett recognizes the shape of his form, the black hair, and the glasses. With embarrassment and disgust, Rhett watches Link look away shyly and adjust his glasses. Ok. So it’s his schtick. And Rhett fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Good to know.

 

Rhett watches them for a moment longer before gliding up next to a curve and getting out of the car.

 

“Let me see your hands!” Rhett’s voice bellows. The would-be-patron speeds off, leaving Link baffled and confused. Realization washes over his face as Rhett presents his badge with a wide smile.

 

“Are you joking?” Link groans when Rhett pulls out his handcuffs.

 

“Nope!” Rhett answers cheerfully.

 

Link crosses his arms over his chest. “I think you’re forgetting our deal. I have something on you, Detective McLaughlin, or did you forget—

 

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Rhett interjects, tone going dead serious. It startles Link out of his smugness.

 

“I got you out of one jam and that alone is enough to get me fired. We’re done with that. Now you come with me. I have some questions.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere unless I’m under arrest.” Link notches his chin and Rhett sighs.

 

“I was hoping to not have to do this,” he mutters, pulling a picture out of his coat. It’s a crime scene photo. “I’m gonna show you something pretty graphic, but I need you to tell me if you know her, ok?” he says, waiting for Link to hesitantly nod his head. Rhett holds the photo up and watches the color drains from Link’s face with alarming quickness.

 

“Hey--!” Rhett moves fast, catching Link against one shoulder. The dark-haired man’s knees begin to buckle and Rhett has to shift to balance his weight. Link’s hand grips his other shoulder.

 

“You’re good. C’mon, man,” Rhett hisses, gripping both Link’s arms to pull back and look at him. He’s still pale; his glasses have fallen to the ground and Rhett can _really_ see the blue eyes and long dark lashes now.

 

“I—I’m ok,” Link finally says, slightly slurred and still shaking. Rhett slides his hands down his arms, stopping at his elbows.

 

“You sure?”

 

Link nods. “Yeah, I just, I’m not so good with—

 

And that’s when Link pukes, all over Rhett and the sidewalk.

 

…

 

An hour later, Rhett is sitting in a booth at IHOP watching the star of his shameful wet-dreams of the last couple weeks pick apart an omelette. The detective watches his hands, studies his face.

 

“You sure you can eat that so soon after just…heaving all over the place?”

 

Link shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

 

Rhett shakes his head. The waitress brings his order, then—a stack of pancakes with maple syrup, sausage, and bacon--placing them in front of the taller man, whose face lights up like a child as she sets it down in front of him.

 

Link crinkles his nose. “You can eat all that so soon after _watching_ someone barf?”

 

Rhett hums and drizzles syrup over the hot cakes. “I see gross things most days. Rotting bodies, blood—

 

“Stop,” Link says, cringing. “I’m sorry, I-I just don’t do so well with that stuff.”

 

Rhett snorts. “I can tell.”

 

Link rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry I puked on you, man.”

 

Rhett shrugs. “That’s why I keep a spare outfit with me. No worries. I’m sorry I grossed you out. I didn’t know you were gonna have that reaction and sometimes I forget most people aren’t used to seeing that.”

 

Link nods and goes back to his plate. After a while of just eating, Rhett glances up at him again.

 

“So you knew her?” Rhett probs gently.

 

Link swallows his orange juice and nods. “We weren’t super close, but she was a friend. I’d been looking for her for a few days.”  

 

Rhett nods, considering. “Why?”

 

Link’s eyes flew to his. “Because no one else was. She’s—she was younger than me. I didn’t know much about her. It was just weird when she stopped showing up and I got a little worried. I guess I had good reason,” he sighs.

 

“I’m sorry,” Rhett says automatically, seeing the softness around the other man’s eyes, the frown turning down the corners of his mouth.

 

Link rolls his eyes. “No you’re not.”

 

“I am. Now, Link, your friend was hurt a little while ago. Someone cut her face up. I actually was a responding detective, but we couldn’t get her to talk. You know anything about that?”

 

Link’s forehead wrinkles, his thumb gliding across his lower lip to wipe up some crumbs. Rhett’s eyes track the movement.

 

“Um, maybe? She said she fell, I guess that was around the same time.”

 

Rhett takes note. “Ok. She never mentioned anyone giving her a hard time?”

 

Link shrugged helplessly. “Johns are rough all the time, man. It’s usually nothing new.”

 

Rhett breathed out of his nose, frustrated. “Well, how about her name? Was it really Iris?”

 

Link laughed. “Nah, dude. I think she said once it was Katie.” Rhett leans back in the booth.

 

“Alright. Well, thanks.”

 

“So what happens now?” Link says, stuffing the last bite of omelette in his mouth.

 

“We try to find out what happened to her. I have some hunches, I just—

 

Rhett cuts himself off. Link raises an eyebrow.

 

“Just what?”

 

Rhett eyes the man across from him. The set of his mouth, the expectant look in his blue eyes. Rhett sets his fork down. “I’m not sure. I think maybe someone’s hurting women and what happened to your friend was the next step. Have you or any other workers heard of incidents of others being attacked? Cut face, anyone particularly violent lately?”

 

Link’s eyes go wider. “Fuck, man. I mean, we heard a little of it, but no, I can’t say I have.”

 

Rhett balls his fists and looks out the window. He glances back at Link and suddenly gets a terrible idea.

 

“Hey…listen, would you mind maybe keeping an ear out? Like, maybe ask some of your buddies if they’ve seen anything or know anything?”

 

Link remains quiet. Rhett sighs.

 

“Even if they don’t know anything, they need to know there’s a very dangerous man out there. They won’t trust me, man.”

 

Link laughs dryly. “No. You’ve got cop written all over you and they definitely don’t trust cops.”

 

Link chews his lip.

 

“Ok. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Rhett nods once. “Thank you.”

 

“Thank _you_ for the breakfast.” Link flashes him a wink.

 

Rhett rolls his eyes and wipes his mouth. Link stands up and stretches with a yawn.

 

“Not used to being up right now?” Rhett guesses.

 

Link smiles and hums. “I could say the same for you.”

 

“I’m always up.”

 

“I can tell,” Link says airily, turning to leave.

 

“Oh! Check your wallet!” He calls over his shoulder when he’s halfway out the door.

 

Rhett’s head whips around, swearing as he fumbles for his wallet. He opens it and flips through it. Everything’s there, exactly where it should be.

 

Rhett just glares at the door and swears under his breath.

 

…

 

“It’s not enough,” Jen says flatly.

 

“Not on its own, no,” Rhett explains patiently. The crew isn’t quite on board with his theory, and to be fair, he agrees it’s flimsy right now and the public should not be alarmed yet.

 

“So what should we do?” Chase asks from his perch on the break room couch. Rhett sips his coffee thoughtfully.

 

“Don’t do anything different yet. Just watch for strange or unusually violent behavior on your normal rounds. Chase, where are we on getting security tapes form the warehouse owner?”

 

“He hasn’t updated the system in years.”

 

“Of course not,” Rhett mumbles.

 

“Alex says they may have a partial print on the doorframe.” Stevie supplies helpfully.

 

“Great!” Rhett says.

 

“Uh, along with about…a hundred other prints,” Stevie finishes, making a face.

 

“Great.” Rhett repeats, deflated. “Just keep asking around, people. Someone saw something. This is LA, there’s people everywhere all the time.”

 

Rhett puts his cup in the sink.

 

“What are you about to do?” Chase inquires nosily, with an arched brow. Rhett glances at him.

 

“I, uh, might have a lead. I’ll tell you if it pans out.” Rhett says, not looking back as he exits the room.

 

…

 

Rhett shifts the gear in “P” mode and waits by the park for Link. It was the most discreet place he could think of. He watches families and children play and jog and tries not to think about how he’s here to meet a prostitute. Just as he’s wondering what he’s doing with his life, he spots Link walking up the jogger’s path in a long black coat he admittedly cuts a nice figure in. The wind tousles his black hair, and he smiles when he sees Rhett. The detective waves and unlocks his passenger door. Link slides in next to him in the car.

 

“Hey!” Link greets.

 

“Hey. So, whatcha got?”

 

Link looks around the precinct’s standard beige detective car. “So this is what one of these looks like from the front seat. Hmm.”

 

_“Link.”_

 

 “Oh, right! I talked to someone who knew one of the other victims but he’s not gonna talk to anyone about it. Tonya said a creepy john got really rough with her last week?”

 

Rhett nodded. “Ok. Ok, good! She get a name? Anything?”

 

“We’re really not in the business of taking names, Detective,” Link responds with gentle amusement.

 

“I know, but did he give her anything helpful?”

 

Link gives him an apologetic shrug.

 

Rhett makes a noise of frustration.

 

“Sorry, man.”

 

“No, it’s not you. I’ve just got some poor murdered girl who’s gonna go into the “to be continued” pile soon if I don’t come up with something. My boss isn’t exactly wanting to spend resources on this.”

 

Rhett rubs his eyes, and when he opens them again, Links is looking at him.

 

“What?” Rhett says, a bit guardedly.

 

Link smiles. “Nothing. You just seem…you’re not from here, are you?”

 

Rhett shrugs. “Neither are you.”

 

Link’s eyes snap to him and Rhett laughs. “I’m a detective for a reason, dude.”

 

Link squints at him but grins slightly as he gets out of the car.

 

“You want a ride somewhere?” Rhett offers. Links shakes his head.

 

“Nah, I think I’ll walk. I don’t normally get to see the park like this, seeing as I’m usually here in some guy’s parked car for other reasons.”

 

_“Oh my god.”_

 

“Going, going,” Link says, holding his hands up and backing away.

 

Rhett huffs but watches him go, smiling despite himself. 

 

…

 

It’s a week later and Rhett thinks maybe, just maybe, he was wrong. He’s a mixture of relieved and frustrated, glad there may not be a murdering maniac out there but frustrated at the sudden breaking of the pattern with no new information. He’s going to have to put the dead hooker’s— _Katie_ —he corrects himself, case on the backburner very soon. Rhett can’t ask his higher-ups or his team to dedicate anymore already spread thin resources on this.

 

Or so he’s thinking when Jen rushes breathless over to his desk.

 

“Rhett! We have another one. Railroad tracks.”

 

Rhett nods and grabs what he needs from his desk. “Let’s roll, everyone.”

 

There’s a bit more of a circus when they arrive. Everyone knows about the first case, but now that there’s possibly two similar ones, they all want to be involved. Rhett has to push his way under the police tape meant to keep unnecessary personnel back.

 

“Excuse me! Out of the way! Detective on the case here, MOVE.”

 

“Your North Carolina is coming out,” Stevie leans close to whisper. “Your drawl.”

 

Rhett rolls his eyes. “Well this country bumpkin’ would surely be grateful if you’d all freaking LEAVE unless you are CSI, me, my team, or EMS.”

 

Extra police and onlookers clear out begrudgingly, and Rhett rubs his temples, finally able to think.

 

“Over here, boss!” Chase yells. Rhett and Stevie jog over. When they get there, Chase lifts a large cardboard box and Rhett is greeted by a gruesome sight.

 

This woman is around the same age as the last, give or take a couple years. Her skin is a shade darker. But that’s not the only thing that’s different. Along with a deep, violent gash across her throat are two slits on either side of her once pretty face, starting at the corners and tilting up.

 

“What the…?” Stevie mumbles.

 

“Glasgow smile,” Rhett says quietly, mainly to himself as he studies the body.

 

“He Joker’d her face?” Chase supplies, incredulous.

 

 “Ok people, we have what looks to be a serial killer. This changes things. Keep tight-lipped and professional. If you have to step away to take a breather or puke, do that. But keep in mind we are going to be under a microscope until we get this figured out. Never talk to the media. Mind your P’s and Q’s. We’ll talk more at the station, let’s just work this scene like any other right now.” 

 

They all nod with wide eyes and get to work, and Rhett is proud. Rhett looks around the scene and out of the corner of his eye, spots a figure near a building. He tells Jen where he’s going and strides over on long legs, stopping abruptly when he’s suddenly face to face with Link.

 

“Is—is that another one?” Link asks in a grim tone, looking ill. Rhett grabs his arm and walks him further down, out of site.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

 

Link jerks his arm away. “I was a couple blocks down and heard the commotion. I thought you guys were on this,” Link frowns.

 

Rhett sighs. “Yeah. We’re trying, ok? But it looks like we have a pattern killer here.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“It means—look, you can’t be here. This whole area is a crime scene, you can’t just watch like it’s a tv show.”

 

Link gives him a dark look. “I know it’s not a tv show, you jerk.”

 

“Rhett!” someone calls for him.

 

Rhett turns back to Link, noting the way the other man has wrapped his arms around himself. He resists the disconcerting urge to wrap him in a hug. Rhett takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets.

 

“I have an active crime scene I have to get back to. I’ll come find you later, ok?” Rhett offers, somewhat desperately, wondering why he feels the need to appease the man. He tells himself it’s because the last thing he needs on God’s green earth right now is for the male prostitute he unwittingly solicited to cause a scene.

 

Link looks Rhett up and down and turns away, storming around a corner. Rhett runs both of his hands through his hair and heads back to the task at hand.

 

There’s already a small news van there when he returns.

 

…

**Thanks for reading!! <3**

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: All your comments are so lovely!! Thank you so much for reading and for the encouragement! I’m so glad ya’ll are liking the story!**

…

 

Rhett hates reporters. He hates reporters and journalists and whoever the hell nicknamed their perp “the Smiling Slasher.” It’s as distasteful as it is unimaginative, but Rhett expects little else of this city. Who the fuck cares about two dead women? No, we’ve got the next Jack the Ripper story on our hands, folks. Extra, extra, read all about it.

 

Rhett bites into a donut and takes two more gulps out of his energy drink—something his doctor would probably skin him alive for but there wasn’t a murderer on the loose a few years ago when Rhett had his somewhat infamous anxiety induced mini-meltdown. They’ve been going at full speed for a week, barely seeing home at all, Rhett often opting to just bring a cot into the station. It does not hold his 6’7 body, but Rhett’s already got brass breathing down his neck and whispers questioning his ability to handle the job floating around his ears. Assholes in surround sound.

 

“Give me something, bud,” is Rhett’s greeting to Alex when the blonde strolls into the precinct. Alex scrubs the back of his head, harried.

 

“We think he’s using gloves—not latex or rubber, though; we didn’t find traces of that. We found black fibers at both crime scenes. Some around the first victim’s mouth and some on the gate near the train tracks. He may have snagged his hand on the way out. We’re still testing the area, fibers, DNA, but there’s a lot, man.”

 

Rhett sighs. “Alright. Thanks, Alex.”

 

Alex leaves and Rhett plops down in his chair, spreading a large map out in front of him. He’s marked the locations of the former attacks and the two bodies, and his eyes scan over the radius he’s drawn. His mind goes back over the facts. Male. Most likely white. Most serial killers are. With a radius like this, it’s highly likely he has his own vehicle. There’s no reliable timetable to the attacks or murders themselves. They seem to be occurring both at night and during the day, so he most likely doesn’t have a normal day job. Which makes sense to Rhett as people with anti-social tendencies have difficulty with employment. So…a younger white male with a penchant for hookers—a population he maybe knows won’t be missed—possible past legal troubles, works from home or some other solitary job with odd hours, and drives. Ok.

 

Jen bounds up to him, a notebook in her hands. “Rhett, I’ve been pounding pavement all day. Everyone’s sketchy as hell but ten out of the fifty people I talked to said they’ve seen a tan Chevy Cavalier pretty often.”

 

Rhett blinked. “Jen. We cannot put out a BOLO for the most non-descript car of the most non-descript color.”

 

“I’m trying, boss.”

 

 “I know, I know. You guys are doing great with what we have. Just keep talking to people.”

 

Jen nodded and was off again. Rhett took one last look at the map and drummed his fingers on his desk.

 

…

 

Rhett leaned against his car door, idly reading the newspaper until he heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by a loud yawn.

 

“Man, these are not my hours.”

 

Rhett lowered the paper to reveal Link, quirking an eyebrow at the man’s uncombed dark hair and sweatsuit.

 

“What? You think I walk around in jet black suspender belts all day? C’mon, give me a break, you can’t tell me you look like _this_ 24/7.” Link says, waving his hand over Rhett’s general vicinity. Rhett’s mouth hangs open. “Hey! There’s nothing wrong with my work clothes.”

 

Link smirked in amusement and shrugged, and that irked the detective even more.

 

“Easy stud. For the record, I’m into it.”

 

Rhett doesn’t know what to say to that, drawing his long tan coat around him tighter as heat creeps up the back of his neck.

 

“ _Anyway_ , I asked you here because…

 

Rhett glances away. Link gives him an expectant look.

 

“I need your help.” Rhett says, meeting Link’s eye. The shorter man studies him, and Rhett wonders what he sees.

 

“Ok. How?”

 

“Just meet me near Greenview around ten tonight.”

 

Link nodded. “Fine.”

 

Rhett is opening his door when he pauses.

 

“Hey.”

 

Link turns back around. Rhett licks his lips thoughtfully.

 

“Were you kidding about the suspender belt thing?”

 

A positively evil smile spreads across Link’s face. He only grants Rhett a lovely wink before turning again to walk away.  

 

Rhett taps his fist twice on his window before getting back into his car.

 

…

 

And so it goes that Rhett McLaughlin, lead detective of the Second Precinct in a little run down part of Los Angeles, is sitting in his car at 10pm with Link.

 

“So are we on a stakeout?” Link inquires, voice lilted in excitement.

 

Rhett snorts softly. “No. _We_ are not doing anything. _I_ am working. _You_ are a possible witness assisting in an investigation.”

 

Link huffs and falls back against the passenger seat. After a moment of looking out the window, he speaks.

 

“What am I supposed to be doing again?” he says, fiddling with things in Rhett’s car. Rhett bats his hands away in annoyance.

 

“Focus. Looking to see if you recognize a tan car or anyone who’s been coming around a lot that’s been acting weird or dangerous, or just gives you the heebies.”

 

“Just the heebies?” Link clarifies.

 

“Jeebies optional,” Rhett confirms.

 

“Hmm.” Link responds solemnly.

 

 “How about that guy?” Rhett points to a pacing man whose eyes are darting around.

 

Link squints. “Nah, he’s a worker. Looks like he’s looking for a fix.”

 

Rhett hums. Link glances at him, and then glances back a few moments later, for longer, and with an inquisitive look on his face.

 

“What.” Rhett demands. He’s getting tired of the looks Link gives him. Like he’s picking him apart.

 

“This doesn’t bother you?” Link asks, sweeping his arm around as best he can in the car, out to the other miscreants of the night, to himself.

 

Rhett chews the inside of his cheek in thought. “Does it bother me in a “crime is being committed” kind of way? Sure. But I’m not out here judging or believe I can make a dent in the prostitution business. LA’s got bigger problems, son.” He mumbles, eyes going back to the crowd outside. “Gotta choose your battles.”

 

Link is quiet for a beat. “So you’re ok being around me,” he pressures.

 

Rhett shifts and rubs his beard, refusing to make eye contact. Link’s face goes slack in comprehension.

 

“Oh my _god_. We slept together, dude. Get over it.”

 

There it is. Rhett cringes and looks around instinctively. “ _Hey_. We didn’t just sleep together. Do you have any idea what it would do to my professional reputation if anyone found out I solicited a prostitute?!”

 

Link rolled his eyes. “You didn’t _solicit_ me, you giant wuss.”

 

Rhett looks at him, confused. Link suddenly became interested in a spot on the floor.

 

“I saw you sitting at the bar. You were tall and handsome--rugged in ways I don't normally see in the guys around here so I went for it.” Link shrugged.

 

Rhett’s mind swirls. “But—you’re a prostitute.” He stammers dumbly.

 

Link snorts. “And? I can still have a sex life, man. I don’t have to sleep with people only if I’m getting paid.” 

 

Relief and befuddlement washes over Rhett. “Wait, so—wait, you just, like…wanted to sleep with me?”

 

“ _Now_ you're getting it!”

 

Rhett eyes sweep over Link’s face in search of anything dubious or malicious. He finds nothing, only what seems to be genuine amusement.

 

“Huh.” Is all Rhett manages in return. He wrinkles his forehead. “Why’d you blackmail and steal from me, then?” Rhett asks non-threateningly, though Link still flinches.

 

“I’m sorry about that. Really. I needed the money, your wallet was there, and the rest of it…well, I needed to get out of jail and I knew I could get you to do it.” He explains simply.

 

Rhett nods, letting it go for now, and they stare out the windows, only half paying attention to the reason they’re even here now.

 

“Tall and rugged, huh?” Rhett finally breaks the silence, cutting his eyes teasingly at Link.

 

Link hits his shoulder. “Hey, you were just as interested, detective.”

 

“Oh I know.” Rhett laughs dryly. “Those _eyes_ , man.”

 

Rhett says that out loud and catches himself only when Link laughs in delight. Rhett is thankful for the shadows that hide his blush.

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

Rhett’s turn to roll his eyes. He ignores the pang in his gut at the reminder of what Link is. What he does.

 

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I had a good time.” Link says, grinning at the tall man. Rhett clears his throat.

 

“Let’s get back to work.”

 

Link smirks and rests his arm against the windowsill. “I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to help you, Detective McLaughlin.”

 

“Rhett. And it’s ok, you never know what’s going to be helpful.”

 

Link hums and continues to watch. After a while, he sighs.

 

“This isn’t like I thought it would be.”

 

Rhett breaths a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, Tango and Cash it is not. A lot of investigative work is actually pretty boring.”

 

Link gave a sheepish laugh. “I was thinking more Dragnet. Gunsmoke. Cagney and Lacey. You know.”

 

Rhett raises both eyebrows. “Cagney and Lacey? Really?”

 

“Don’t judge! They were what my Nana had on every time I went over.”

 

“Your Nana. That’s adorable.”

 

“Hey, shut up. I’d go over to her house and had to watch whatever she put on. Then I’d go out in the woods and pretend I was Joe Friday.”

 

Rhett belly-laughs, deep and loud in the car. He puts an overly-serious look on his face. “Just the facts, ma’am.”

 

“Not bad!” Link notes. “You’ve got a good voice for that,” he says, making no attempt to hide raking his eyes over his companion. Rhett snorts.

 

“Hey, we making any progress out here?”

 

“Oh!” Link pushes his glasses up his nose and turns his attention back outside. “Yeah, no. Sorry. It’s all kind of a blur night after night, dude.”

 

Rhett sighs and checks his watch. “Ok. Let’s call it a night.”

 

Link stifles and yawn and nods, placing his hand on the door handle.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Link blinks at him. “Uh, going home?”

 

Rhett laughs kindly. “Nah, man. Let me give you a ride. Come on. You helped me out tonight, it’s the least I could do.”

 

Link settles back into his seat and looks at Rhett gratefully. “I’d appreciate that.”

 

…

 

It’s close to 1am when Rhett pulls up to the building Link has directed him to. It’s a surprisingly ok part of town; Rhett still wouldn’t want to be caught walking around out here for too long at this time of night, but it’s not a terrible building. It’s mostly just old. Iron bars cover the windows set into dark red brick. Rhett parks at a curb and turns to Link.

 

“Thanks for the ride, Detective,” Link says, zipping up his hoodie jacket.

 

Rhett shrugs. “Hey, thanks for the help. Honestly. I mean, if you ever tell anyone I did this I’ll have to kill you, but thanks.” Rhett stiffens, cringing at his own use of a prostitute murder joke. Luckily, Link just laughs, his head flopping against the headrest.

 

“You’re welcome. And don’t worry. Secret’s safe with me.” He says quietly.

 

 He lets his head loll towards Rhett, and the detective swallows. Maybe it’s the way the street light comes through, so that Rhett can only see half of his silhouette. Maybe it’s his taunting mouth, full lips curved up slightly. Maybe it’s the way Link is looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Or maybe it’s the way Rhett honestly just enjoyed his company tonight.

 

Either way, Rhett leans in and kisses him.

 

Link lets him, turning his head slightly and resting a hand on Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett sighs into it and slides his hand behind Link’s neck, much like the first time outside the bar. Except this time, Link doesn’t taste like a fruity cocktail and his hair isn’t full of bar smoke. There’s just the press of Link’s mouth against his, the smooth slide of his tongue against Link’s. The dark-haired man shivers, and Rhett begins to stroke his thumb up and down Link’s neck, enjoying their slow movements. They eventually break, Rhett’s chest heaving slightly and Link’s face a little flushed in the dark. Link licks his lips, eyes never leaving Rhett. The detective’s heart pounds in his chest, their breaths the only audible noise in the car right now.

 

Link appears to be waiting for Rhett, so the detective painstakingly removes his hand from Link and leans away, putting both hands back on the steering wheel. Link gets the message and wordlessly exits Rhett’s car.

 

“Good night, Detective.” Link says evenly. Rhett tips a finger at him without looking and puts the car in drive.

 

He glances in his rearview only once, but Link is already gone.

 

…

 

Rhett has Chase checking license plates for owners that might match the age and description of their suspect. The round-faced younger detective mumbles something about a needle in a haystack but diligently sets to work. Stevie complies a list of jobs that might fit their perp and goes from there, and Jen comes back at the end of each day with more news from knocking on doors. But it’s not narrow enough, not nearly enough. There are still thousands of men who fit their flimsy profile. They’re still assuming too much, speculating too much, with not enough solid facts.

 

“We need them to talk to us,” Stevie says while rubbing her eyes on a Thursday afternoon. She’s putting her personal phone back in her pocket and Rhett knows she’s probably just gotten off the phone with her girlfriend, exchanging _I miss you’s_ and _I’ll be home as soon as I can._ But now she’s referring to the seedier residents of their area, the prostitutes and drug dealers.

 

“Are you having any luck?” she asks.

 

Blue eyes flash in Rhett’s mind.

 

“Some.” He says.

 

Stevie hums and pulls up a chair to sit down next to him. “What are we going to do?”

 

Rhett lets out a breath. “We gotta listen to what the crime scenes and bodies are telling us. Unfortunately, everything they’re telling us describes half the young Caucasian men in this city. We just gotta keep narrowing. Right now we’re at hundreds. Keep shrinking the pool from there until we get more information.”

 

Rhett rubs his face and leans back in his chair. Something. Give me something, he thinks into the air. He regrets it as soon as he sees Jen pick up a ringing phone. Her wide eyes meet his across the room, and Rhett’s already cursing before she can even get off the phone.

 

…

 

The body is at least three months old. It’s been partially preserved but it’s still hard to tell the finer details. What the examiner _can_ tell is that she died of a massive trauma to the neck/trachea. Now way to tell if she also carried the slashes on her mouth, though probably not, as they appear to be a new addition for more recent victims. She’s their most decomposed victim so far and she helps them paint a better picture.

 

Stevie sidles up beside Rhett, his hands in his pockets, jaw set, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“He’s been doing this a while.” She whispers, face ashen.

 

Rhett nods. “Yep. They’ll find more bodies. I guarantee that.”

 

They watch as their victim is unearthed and put into a body bag, another toe tag for the morgue.

 

…

 

Rhett walks with purpose, spotting Link at their designated meeting spot this time. Link frowns at the grimness of his demeanor, the somberness in his green eyes. So different from the other night, though Link doesn’t bring that up right now.

 

“You have to let me talk to your friends.” Rhett nearly whispers.

 

Link’s eyes widen slightly. “You know I can’t do that.”

 

“Link.”

 

“Detective, they won’t talk to you and I’ll be labeled if I bring a cop around. Are you kidding?” Link snaps.

 

Rhett’s eyes bore into Link’s face. “I’m not kidding and neither is the third body we found today.” He says calmly, watching Link’s reaction. The other man blanches.

 

“Wh—what?”

 

“We found another body. And older one. He’s not new to this, Link. There’s a dangerous, terrible man out there and I need to find him or more people are going to die.”

 

Link’s gaze meet his. Maybe it’s the determination in the detective’s voice or the way he said “people” and not “hookers” or “some whore.”

 

Link bites his lip and nods at the jade eyes fixed on him.

 

“Okay.”

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

…

Eight o’clock. Rhett’s eyes note the time dully, through a caffeine infused haze. He’s going to have to leave soon. The rest of his crew is poring over crime scene photos, making lists of evidence, Stevie spending most of the day on the phone and poor Jen barely setting foot in the office all day. Rhett flips the large whiteboard he’s been working on that holds pictures (those they could find pictures of) of their victims and information about their crime scenes. Rhett has one hand pressed to his mouth in thought when his phone dings.

_What are you wearing tonight?_

Rhett blinks down at the text.

_What do you mean? My normal clothes._

Rhett presses send and sighs. He knew giving Link his personal number could be a mistake, but there was no way he was going to have their conversations logged on his work cell.

_What’s normal for you?_

Rhett made a noise of annoyance and typed out a reply.

_I know how to dress myself. I’m at work. I have to go. See you at 9._

Rhett looks down at his current attire. He supposes he could look a little less cop-ish, especially considering the intended setting. But it wasn’t because Link said so.

After another thirty minutes or so, Rhett begins to gather his things. Stevie, approaching his desk but slowing when she noticed what he was doing, give him an incredulous look.

“Where are you going?”

Rhett glances at her exhausted face and feels immensely guilty.

“I have to go, Stevie. I might have a witness.”

“I can come.”

Rhett bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, refusing to look at her.

“Rhett. What’s going on with you lately?”

The tall man rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it, Stevie. I promise.”

The woman regards him for a moment before sighing. “Just keep me posted.”

…

Rhett swings by his apartment before going to meet Link, rifling in his closet for something to wear and feeling very much like a teenager getting ready for prom. What does one wear to a club when you aren’t going as a patron but don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb? Frustrated, he finally grabs a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved dark green shirt that rolls up at the elbows, and brown shoes. As a last-minute thought before heading out the door, he spritzes some cologne on his neck and chest.

Link is waiting for him, bouncing where he stands, hands stuffed in his pockets. Rhett swallows as he approaches the shorter man, remembering their last awkward encounter in his car. But Link just smiles when he sees Rhett, looking him up and down with a slightly surprised expression.

“Shut up.” Rhett says in greeting. Link laughs and fixes his glasses. It’s one of his “tells” Rhett’s learned about Link. He tends to pay attention a lot when he’s around Link.

“Nah, man; you look…handsome.” Link says softly, face devoid of any mirth or his usual leering humor.

Rhett scoffs and begins walking. “So how many did you manage to get?”

Link hums. “Eight. Sorry it couldn’t be more.”

“Hey, I’ll take it. Not like I’m rolling in leads over here.” The detective mumbles.

Link studies him. “You seem tired.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Rhett laughs dryly.

Link might be about to say something else, but he doesn’t because they’ve reached their destination—a former large storage building with tin roll-down doors converted into a club. Rhett stares at the structure, wholly unenthused. Link gives his back a quick pat.

“They wouldn’t go to the police station, man. This was the compromise.”

Rhett shrugged. He’d done worse for not as important reasons. He straightened up and gestured to the door.

“After you.”

…

Rhett kept his eyes on the back of Link’s head as they weaved through the darkened space, Rhett catching sight of more than one illegal activity out of the corner of his eye. They climbed some stairs and got up to a much quieter side-room. Link put his hand on the knob and then turned to Rhett.

“Am I staying?”

Rhett shrugged. “I don’t mind. They might be more comfortable if you did.”

Link nodded and opened the door, and Rhett was greeted by eight pairs of eyes belonging to a fairly diverse group. Six women, two men, varying ethnicities, though they all seemed to be early to mid-twenties.

“Guys, this, uh, this is Rhe-Detective McLaughlin,” Link stammered slightly. “You can trust him.” Rhett was touched and surprised by the casual tone with which Link introduced him, and he stepped forward and smiled gently at the nervous small crowd.

“Alright. I’m gonna need everyone’s names, and then we can get started.”

…

Quietly, loudly, meekly, with attitude, with fear, they each tell Rhett their stories. They don’t have to do it verbally—Rhett can see their pasts written all over their faces. But he focuses on what he’s there for, and they’re genuinely helpful. He looks over his shoulder occasionally and sees Link looking at him. When they finish, Rhett stands and tucks his pad and pen back into his pocket.

“Thanks, everyone. Really. You have no idea how much this helped.”

“You’re actually going to get this guy, right?” one of them asks dubiously.

“I promise I’m doing everything I can. I just need ya’ll to keep an eye out and be safe. If you see or hear something, please just come to the station and ask for me. We want him for murder more than we want you for a solicitation charge.” With that, they filed out, giving Link a pat or a hug and bypassing Rhett warily.

Rhett places his hands on his hips and sighs, turning to Link.

“What?” the detective says, quirking a brow.

Link shrugs and smiles. “You’re good with people.” He says simply. Rhett returns the smile.

“Ready to go?”

“Can we get something to eat? Promise I won’t throw up on you this time.” Link says.

Rhett laughs. “This late, you’re looking at fast food.”

“I’m not picky.”

…

That’s a lie and Rhett should have known, especially after he’d seen the man pick cherries out of a cherry drink with his own eyes. After some mild tired bickering they end up at Taco Bell of all places, finding a spot to park and eat an entire day’s caloric intake in one sitting.

“So,” Link says, licking his fingers between bites. “Where’d the southern accent come from?”

Rhett hesitates. Link huffs in annoyance. “It comes out when you’re talking to people.”

Rhett hums, chewing and swallowing slowly. “North Carolina.” He says softly. When Link doesn’t answer him, he glances up to see a wide-eyed look on the other man’s face.

“Shut up. I spent the first six years of my life there. Moved away right before first grade.”

“You’re kidding!” Rhett exclaims. “What area?”

Link chuckles. It looks good on him, Rhett thinks, that genuine laugh.

“Tiny little place called Buies Creek. I don’t expect you to have—

“No way.” Rhett cuts in, looking at Link shocked and a little suspiciously.

“No way what? You’ve heard of it?” Link adjusts his glasses.

“Heard of it?! Dude, I grew up in Buies Creek!”

Link laughs in disbelief. “You serious? We had a little house on the other side of the tracks near the Presbyterian church. Me and mom moved when my folks split up.”

Rhett was looking at Link like he’d grown three heads. “How—wait. How’d we miss each other? We were the same age.”

Link shrugged. “I was homeschooled in Kindergarten and we didn’t go to church very often. We really didn’t get out much, come to think of it. Different sides of town, maybe?”

“I—I guess,” Rhett said, brain still struggling to process this. He knew it. He knew he’d detected an accent. How could he have not recognize another Buies Creek native?

They stared at each other in the stunned silence of Rhett’s car in Los Angeles, but Rhett’s mind goes back to a small town, tries to picture Link biking over the same trails, swimming in the same river, maybe just barely missing each other. He knows it’s futile and ridiculous, but he searches his memory for a dark-headed kid with blue eyes and a round face. His heart beats fast in his chest and he feels something he can’t name fall into place.

Finally, the two of them laugh in shared excited bewilderment, eyes shining at each other, as if meeting a stranger you’d always known.

“But wait, how’d you get here? How’d…” Rhett trails off, unsure of how to ask his question.

“How’d I go from small town boy to big city prostitute?” Link finishes for him, crunching into another hardshell taco. Rhett nods.

Link thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “Life, man.” He doesn’t elaborate and Rhett doesn’t push. But he wants to. Wants to know if Link’s eyes look the same as those others back at the club, wants to know what stars didn’t align that brought Link to lonely street corners and dark corners of LA. That had him selling pieces of himself to whoever would have him.

“You?”

Rhett put down his drink. “Nothing too exciting. I came off academy training at a time when LA was desperate for recruits. Nobody that knew this place wanted to work for it, so they hired naïve young graduates,” Rhett chuckled dryly. Link smiled indulgently and waited.

“Got hired, somehow made it past my first year and wanted to stay, so I moved up.” He swallowed, the rest of the story on the tip of his tongue. He shoved another bite into his mouth instead.

“And now you’re a lead detective?” Link continued.

“And now I’m a lead detective.” Rhett smiled to himself. “It’s a good gig, really.”

“You ever want to go home?” Link inquires quietly, and Rhett thinks he may be talking to himself more than Rhett.

He shrugs. “Sometimes. I’m a southerner at heart and I miss being near my family. Buies Creek is my home. But I just…”

“You can’t _dream_ there,” Link says suddenly. Rhett turns to look at him. Link’s eyes dance and sparkle sadly in the shadows. Rhett feels bricks in his chest.

“I get it,” Link whispers. “I didn’t grow up in Buies Creek but we lived in small towns my whole life. I get it. Sometimes you just need to get outside your bubble.” He smiles, lopsided, and turns back to his food. Rhett blinks and looks out the window.

“What made you wanna be a cop?” Link finally asks, voice going up in curiosity.

“Honestly? I watched a lot of Law and Order and Cops as a kid.”

Link covers his mouth to keep from spitting out his mouthful. “Seriously, man? And you were on my case about Cagney and Lacey?”

Rhett laughs, too, tilting his head back. “Yeah, yeah. I always liked crime shows, crime books. You name it, I probably wanted to be it.”

“Is it anything like you thought?” Link asks.

Rhett snorted. “No. Some ways it’s worse. Some things you can’t prepare for. But in some ways it’s just what I imagined or better. So, y’know.”

Link hums and balls up his empty wrapper. Rhett checks his watch and puts his hands on the wheel, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Where to?”

Link buckles back up. “Home is fine.”

…

Fifteen minutes later, they find themselves in a too familiar scenario. Rhett swallows.

“I know you’re trying. Thank you,” Link says after they’ve stopped. Rhett nods.

“Just my job. But you’re welcome.”

They’re quiet again, and Rhett licks his dry lips. Beside him, Link shifts. Rhett closes his eyes.

“Detective,” he whispers. 

Rhett opens his eyes and looks at him.

“I make a mean Long Island Iced Tea.”

Rhett stares at him as Link gets out of the car. He closes the door behind him begins walking to his building.

Rhett gives the steering wheel another squeeze before shutting off the car. He gets out and follows Link.

…

“This was one of the first albums I bought with my own money,” Rhett tells Link, motioning to Link’s record player. Link grins and continues his dorky, unsteady movements, attempting to dance to the Brooks and Dunn music playing. Rhett laughs at him, sinking back into his comfortable position on the couch. Link’s apartment is not what Rhett expected. The walls are all brick, stylish and neat looking, and Link’s decorations are simple but homey. It’s small—even smaller than Rhett’s one-bedroom in midtown, but it’s cozy. It helps that Rhett is tipsy; not near the levels of drunk of their first encounter, though, and Rhett could probably still drive home with no problem. But Link _does_ make a mean Long Island Iced Tea and Rhett is the perfect mixture of tipsy and content. No one else he’s met in LA has shared his taste in music as far as country classics go, and Rhett is amazed at Link’s collection.

“ _As long as there’s light from a neon moon_ ,” Link follows along with the song, imitating the twang.

Rhett snorts and takes another sip. The song ends, and Link catches his breath, face flushed and eyes glowing. Rhett looks away.

“Anymore requests?”

“If you have any Conway, my heart is yours,” Rhett declares.

Link looks through his box and makes a disappointed sound, puffing out his lower lip. “Darn. Not my lucky day. You like Zeppelin, right?”

“What kind of question is that?” Rhett shoots back, slightly offended.

Link giggles and pulls out an album, studying it carefully before putting it beneath the record player needle. Rhett listens for a moment before smiling in recognition.

“Classic.”

Link hums and plops down beside Rhett, swaying his head to the slow, sexy beat of “Since I’ve Been Loving You.”

Rhett leans his head back on the couch and stares up at the ceiling, fiddling idly with the glass in his hand. He begins to let his mind wonder back to work, about how he really shouldn’t be here right now, when a movement from Link catches his attention again.

Rhett breaths out a laugh. “You can’t be still.”

Link laughs wryly. “Yeah, it’s a lifelong problem. But what can I say, music makes me wanna move. Old habits die hard.”

“What old habits?” Rhett wrinkles his brow.

Link freezes and looks at Rhett.

“Oh, _Detective_ ,” he purrs with a pouty smile. Rhett’s heartrate picks up. “Didn’t I tell you? I used to dance.”

He slides off the couch and stands in front of Rhett, listening to the song for a good cue to come in on. Rhett suddenly feels dizzy. Link smiles and begins to sway his hips in time with the beat, closing his eyes. His hands come up to slide through his hair, down his chest, over his hips and thighs, bending slightly at the waist. When his eyes meet Rhett’s through dark bangs, the detective is watching him quietly through half-lidded eyes. His eyes trail down Link’s form, mouth going dry. It’s not the most coordinated or in-time dance Rhett’s ever seen, but it’s definitely the hottest. Link has that effect on him. He’s also having an effect on other things that are going to make themselves apparent very soon, Rhett is aware somewhere deep in his brain. Link must know it, too, because he smirks and sways closer to the taller man, swinging one leg over Rhett’s thighs. Rhett gasps and stares up at him.

“Link.” A warning. Or perhaps a plea.

“Hmm?” Link says against Rhett’s neck. Zeppelin plays on, Link still attempting to sway in Rhett’s lap. He knows. He knows Rhett is not about to call this off.

Rhett grips the other man’s hips and pulls back. His pulse is racing. Expectant blue eyes are looking back at him. Pink, full lips are waiting. And Rhett knows Link can feel his hardness through his jeans. He’ll wait for Rhett. He’ll wait for Rhett to decide what to do about this awkward side-stepping Rhett’s been doing.

“Fuck,” Rhett says breathily. Shaky. “Fuck.” He surges up and Link meets his kiss halfway, placing both hands on Rhett’s broad shoulders and leaning him back into the couch. It’s electric, sending a jolt of heat through the detective. He slides his hands up the back of Link’s shirt, feeling soft, warm skin jump under his palms.

Link tilts his head back, and Rhett is treated to the expanse of his throat. He nips and leaves a trail of kisses, Link groaning at the sensation of Rhett’s beard. Link shifts again so that he’s sitting up in Rhett’s lap, face flushed and mouth puffy. He pulls at the hem of his shirt and Rhett understands, slipping the shirt over his head in one fluid movement. Rhett’s eyes take in everything at once; this is slower than the first time, clearer, and Rhett slides his hands up Link’s chest, gazing at him with hungry intensity. Link goes back down for another searing kiss, not being able to stand the slight distance for too long, and Rhett lets the last of his resolve slip away. When Link’s skilled hands make quick work of the front of Rhett’s jeans, Rhett lets him. When he moves them to push Link onto his back on the couch, Link doesn’t stop him.

Zeppelin plays on.

…

Rhett’s never felt so good and bad at the same time, he ponders, leaving Link’s apartment early the next morning. Did he do a bad thing? It didn’t feel bad. In fact, it felt better than anything has felt in a long time. And who knows, maybe now he’s gotten it out of his system and he can stop having shameful fantasies about the prostitute. But there’s a knot in his stomach, and it’s been there since he quietly and quickly dressed himself and left a sleeping Link knocked out on the couch. But not before covering him up and picking up his glasses.

Rhett rubs his face and checks his watch. It’s 7am. He got a grand total of three hours sleep. He sighs and takes out his notes from last night. Time to get back to it. Get your head right. He can shower at the precinct, and he thinks he might even have another outfit in his locker. Maybe he can pull this off yet again.

But walking into the office is met with chaos. Dread forms in the center of Rhett’s chest as he looks around for Stevie. She finds him.

“Rhett, where have you been?!” she hisses, mouth tight.

Rhett runs a hand through his hair. “I—I was working. What’s going on? What’s wrong, Stevie?”

Stevie sets her jaw. “While you were out doing whatever you were doing, we found another body. I’ve been trying to call you for a while.”

Rhett feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped on him. He rubs a hand down his face. “Fuck me. Okay. Update me.” Stevie simply continues to regard him.

“Stevie. I’m sorry. Update me.” He says in a irritated tone he knows he has no right to use with her right now. She was busting her ass and trying to find him while he was…with Link.

It’s more of the same. This one was found out by a dumpster near a parking garage. Not too far from Link’s place, and Rhett’s jaw tightens at the thought. But he’s got to stop. He’s got to stop thinking about Link.

The day goes on and Stevie keeps her distance under the guise of being busy. And they are. His bosses want answers yesterday and they have yet another crime scene to work. He glances Chase, Jen, and Alex and desperately wants to apologize. He would if he weren’t a coward, he thinks. Rhett sighs and busies himself with what he learned from the club, writing it on his whiteboard. Stevie comes up to him at some point with a cup of coffee and a pastry. A peace offering.

“Hey.” She says, reading notes over his shoulder.

“Hey.” He says without looking away. He hears her sigh.

“I’m sorry, boss. I can’t talk to you that way.”

Rhett looks at her. “Stevie, I’m sorry. I wasn’t here when you needed me and I’m sorry. I—there’s some stuff I can’t—but I was actually working last night, I promise.”

“I see that,” Stevie mumbles. “This is good, Rhett. Wow. So they’ve all had experiences with the same dark-haired guy possibly driving a light colored car?”

Rhett hums in affirmation. “Don’t know if it’s all the same dude but it’s something. Go get an update from Alex, please.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

She goes, and Rhett lets out a breath.

_Get your head in the game._

…

Rhett doesn’t see or speak to Link for three days. They’re beyond busy and truth be told, Rhett’s not sure he can face the blue-eyed man. But on the fourth night Rhett wakes up in a sweat, too stifling, too hot, and he can’t breathe. Images of dead women are waiting for him when he closes his eyes, so Rhett gets up and gets in his car. His jaw is tight, resolute, his mind blank and walled off. Finally, he gets to where he somehow knew he’d end up and Rhett spots him. He almost doesn’t recognize Link but there he is, leaning against a wall in a tank top and tight pants, looking nothing like the goofball who danced drunkenly to country music a few nights ago. Rhett’s dazed mind is confused until it hits him, the only clarity he’s had so far tonight.

Link is working.

Rhett pulls up. Link leans into the passenger side window and his ever-ready grin falters when he sees who it is. Rhett doesn’t say anything, so Link gets in the car and waits. Finally, Rhett clears his throat and says, so quietly Link barely hears him, “Where can we go?”

Link blinks, thrown by Rhett’s demeanor and tone. “Go to the light and make a left.”

Rhett drives, still not looking at Link. The shorter man steals a glance at the detective, the traffic light casting a faint red glow across his tight, worn features. They come to a deserted alleyway and Link gets out, leading Rhett behind a wall. They stand there, Rhett’s eyes studying Link’s face. He can see now that Link has dabbed some glitter at the corners of his eyes, sweeping up towards his hair. He looks pretty. Rhett slides his hand up into Link’s hair, and the dark-haired man leans up, expecting their lips to meet. But Rhett yanks— _hard_ , on Link’s hair, shoving him roughly to his knees on the grimy street.

Rhett listens to Link undo his belt and desperately tries to forget everything else.

…

**A/N: I’m so sorry I missed a week! Thank you so much for the continued support! <3 Don’t forget to comment if you want or hit that kudos! I’d really appreciate it!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: As always, thanks for reading <3 **

…

What Rhett didn’t tell Link was the reason he was so enamored with shows like Law and Order is because they contained the idea that every problem can be solved through witty one-liners and ridiculous coincidences, all within the span of an hour. Rhett, who even as a child was uneasy with not having solutions, liked the idea of saving the world one day at a time, episode by episode. Or so the detective reflects as he sits in his car, head leaning back against the seat as he struggles against heavy eyelids. His eyes pop open at the gentle knock on his window. Link smiles and raises a hand, and Rhett sits up and unlocks the doors.

Link takes his place in the passenger seat and he’s already got way too much energy for Rhett’s liking, fidgeting and squirming to get comfortable.

“Will you get still?” Rhett snaps.

Link looks at him. “Who peed in your Cheerios, man? Here, I got you a latte.” He holds out the drink and Rhett isn’t crazy about lattes, but it’s caffeine, and Link is shaking it at him. He takes it from his dark-haired companion.

“Anything?” Rhett asks as Link sips his own chai tea. All-business. Link rolls his eyes but does nod.

“A friend of mine got a knife pulled on him last night.”

Rhett’s head snaps to him. “Seriously? Is he alright? What else did he say? Will he fill out a report?”

Link swallowed again. Rhett watched his throat bob.

“He’s okay. The guy didn’t sound like the dude you were telling me about though. Doesn’t he usually go for women?”

Rhett sighed. “Well, I’d like to be the judge of that if there’s a chance you can get him to come down.”

“I’ll try. As always.” Link said gamely.

They finished their drinks, Rhett sneaking only occasional glances at Link as they listened to the only classic country station in the area Rhett could find. He usually tuned to it when he knew he was going to be seeing his fellow southerner. They’d established an unspoken yet easy pattern of meeting a couple times a week for Link to update Rhett and vice-versa, though they certainly weren’t kidding themselves about any other ulterior motives . Link was an odd one. Strange and a little OCD. Goofy and quirky. Magnetizing in a familiar yet frustrating sort of way. Link slurped his cup obnoxiously over Johnny Cash’s “Ain’t No Grave” and for a surreal, simple moment Rhett can forget they’re in filthy downtown Los Angeles.

That is until Link sets down his cup and, with a glint in his blue eyes, looks at Rhett and says,

“Where to now, Detective?”

It’s casual and open enough but Rhett now knows the teasing lilt underneath the faux innocence of his tone. Rhett snorts lightly and glances out the window. Link is waiting with a patient smirk. Rhett wordlessly puts the car in gear.

…

Link gasps into the side of Rhett’s neck as Rhett grips his hip. There’s not enough room in Rhett’s care for Link to be straddling him as they desperately grind together, but here they are again, hidden by shadows. Link moans lowly against the taller man’s skin as he bucks into the hand shoved down his unbuttoned pants. Rhett’s arm slides around Link’s waist, his hand increasing its’ speed. Link tilts his head back in response, eyes widening in surprise, hips falling into an uneven rhythm. Rhett pushes his hand forward just as Link thrusts his hips and Link finishes, slumping forward against Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett tightens his arms briefly, gives a discreet kiss to Link’s temple. They don’t ever talk about that.

“Well,” Link says when he regains his voice, running two hands through his hair to fix it. He only makes it worse and Rhett smiles fondly up at his disheveled locks and flushed face. Link smiles back and Rhett ignores the “thump” his heart gives. It’s easy to do now that Link’s mask has come back up, a salacious look replacing a lopsided smile. Rhett closes his eyes and rests his head against the seat as Link’s fingers slide over his shoulders, down his chest, past his waistband, well-practiced, generic dirty phrases spilling from his lips.

It makes Rhett go hard and he hates himself for it.

…

“Rhett!” Jen says as soon as he’s through the door. “There’s a reporter on the phone for you.”

“Tell ‘em to bite me. But be diplomatic about it.”

Jen laughs as she falls into step next to him. After a moment, she looks up at him. “You seem…different. Are you sleeping better?” the blonde inquires. “What’s your secret, I’m Struggle City here lately.”

Rhett shrugs. “Just…handling the stress. Pushin’ through it, y’know.”

Jen hums. “Welp, I’ll go get rid of the media. Catch you in a bit!” she calls over her shoulder. Rhett heads to his desk. He takes out one of his crime profiler books and flips until he finds what he’s looking for. Sporadic murderers. Sporadic murderers who escalate in violence over time. Rhett highlights some passages and taps his pen.

“Hey, Chase?”

The brunette pokes his head around the corner at the sound of his name.

“Can you run a search for white males between the ages of 25-35, registered with the DMV, lives within 10-20 miles of here, and have been through Los Angeles County DCFS or juvenile court system?”

“Sure thing, Rhett!” Chase hustles off. Rhett writes himself a reminder to buy the kid a gift card or something. But the search is at least something, even if it will take yet more time to run it and go from there. Time they don’t have since the fiasco of the most recent body. But. It’s something.

“Hey, McLaughlin.” Stevie chirps as she walks by.

“Hmm.”

Stevie snorts. “Hello to you, too. How’s it going?”

Rhett stretches in his chair, popping his back. Stevie makes a face and shivers.

“Sorry. And it’s going. Got a few ideas.”

“Sharing is caring, Rhett.” Stevie responds.

“Our perp isn’t new at this, we know that. I’m having Chase cross-reference basic identifying data against anyone who might’ve been troubled as a kid and had it documented somewhere.”

“Well, that’s half of this borough of LA,” Stevie cringes. Rhett shrugs.

“Yeah. But it’s something. Alex give you anything?”

Stevie shakes her head. “They’re still working their way through our bodies and all the other high-priority new arrivals from various parts of this great county.”

Rhett rubs his face. “Ok. Keep me updated on that, and can you take a basic description and ask around at some of these parole offices and bail bondsman agencies? I know it’s a stretch.”

“Will do.”

“And Rhett!” she says last minute as she’s walking away. He looks ups expectantly.

Stevie pauses a moment, and Rhett doesn’t like it. “I—were you near Greenview today?”

Rhett’s palms sweat but he lets his training take over, his face remaining passive. “No?” he answers nonchalantly. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason! I was going by the park and I just thought I saw your car coming from that way. But ok!” She smiles and walks off.

He leans back in his roller chair and lets out a breath.

…

Rhett slides his hands in his pockets as he walks up and down the boulevard, taking a break from staring at files and books. It’s a surprisingly quiet night with clear air, and Rhett would love to be spending it around a campfire. But he settles for the sound of his boots scuffing the pavement beneath him. The ringing of his personal cell catches his attention, and he digs it out of his pocket. It’s Link. Rhett hits the green button to answer.

“I think I just saw a shooting star!”

Rhett chuckles. “What?”

“A shooting star. Falling star. Whatever.”

“Link, we’re not due for a meteor shower and where are you in LA that you can even see stars?”

“By the shipyard, know-it-all. It’s darker over here.”

“What are you doing by the shipyard?”

Rhett can practically hear the eye-roll through the phone. “Telling folks about the Lord—what do you think?”

Rhett cringes involuntarily.

“Sorry.” Link says softly, as though he can see the detective. Rhett doesn’t know why Link is sorry, or why he’s glad Link is, but the detective files that away along with a million other unwanted ponderings he’s yet to confront.

“It’s ok. Shooting star, though?”

“Yeah! I’m standing at the end of a pier and saw one go over the bay.”

Rhett grinned. “And you called me?”

“Shut up. I just, uh, remember you said you used to like to go camping and stargaze. Can you see any now?”

Rhett looked up, though he knows it’s pointless. “Nah, too many lights downtown.”

Link hums. “I see Orion’s Belt. The Big Dipper.”

“Nice.” Rhett smiles, reaching up an arm to trace the star patterns Link is telling him into empty air. He can picture Link doing the same, pointing up at the sky and eyes shining with childlike wonder. They’re both quiet for a while, taking comfort in the presence on the other end of the line while they look up at the sky. Rhett drops his arm eventually and yawns.

“Wait, why are _you_ still up?” Link asks, as if just suddenly made aware of the time.

“Working,” Rhett answers automatically.

“Any progress?” Link asks sympathetically. Rhett sighs.

“Some. I wish I had more answers.”

“You’ll get there.” Link says simply. A fact.

Rhett breathes out a laugh. “Glad one of us is confident. But we’ve got a narrower search this time. I think our guy may have had some trouble as a child. May have been through children’s services. Who knows.” Rhett is tired. But Link pauses and Rhett hears him shift. He feels like Link is about to say something.

“Link?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m here. Just…thinking. Sorry you’re having a tough time.”

Rhett hums noncommittally. “Just part of it sometimes.”

“Wanna come over?” Link asks, and despite Rhett’s stomach flipping, he hesitates.

“I really need to get back to the office.”

“We could just hang out.” Link says teasingly.  

Rhett huffs dryly. “We can’t _just_ do anything without it going a certain way and you know that.”

Link giggles in Rhett’s ear, and the sound warms Rhett’s chest like a shot of whiskey.

“Fine, fine. But all work and no play---

“Keeps Detective McLaughlin employed. Good-night, Link.”

“Good-night, Rhett.”

…

“What if it’s like a Zodiac killer type situation and we just…don’t ever find the guy?” Chase randomly blurts out in the break room.

“What if you shut up?” Jen tiredly shoots back.

Chase holds up two hands. “Just saying.”

Rhett snorts and bites into his honey bun. Stevie shakes her head.

“It’d be easier if this _were_ like Bundy or something, though.” Jens says. “We could tell people just don’t get in vans with strange men. But how do you tell prostitutes not to go with a john?”

“I’ve been telling everyone to just be extra cautious,” Stevie sighs. “But that’s relative when your livelihood kinda relies on doing the opposite.”

“Safety or the highest bidder,” Jen mumbles sarcastically.

“We don’t know their situations,” Rhett interjects suddenly. They all blink at him.

“I, ah…nevermind. I’m just tired.”

It’s 5pm and Rhett is about to call it for the day. It’s the earliest they’ve gotten to go home in weeks, but it’s Friday and he thinks the crew deserves it. But one should never let the universe know you’re planning to knock off work early, because that’s when Rhett’s work phone goes off. They hold their breath and watch Rhett’s face as he listens, then nods.

“Ok. Interrupted assault, let’s roll.”

They get there before the news van, which is good because it turns out to be nothing. Rhett glares at the responding officer, who misread a public domestic argument and jumped the gun. Rhett rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Ok, look everyone, I know we’re all on edge here but let’s take our time and not get so excited.” Rhett turns and stills at the sight of a burly man in all blue. His supervisor, their Chief. Rhett actually hasn’t seen him in nearly a month, his superior being over a few different precincts at the moment and choosing to yell at Rhett via phone from his main office. Rhett approaches him.

“What the hell is going on, here?!” The older man hisses.

“We had an officer call in a false alarm on our serial murderer, sir.”

“Are you shitting me? So we got worse than nothing now, we got LA’s finest running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Rhett tightened his jaw. “Sir. With respect, I am not over the police force. My direct team responded to the information they had.”

His superior ran a hand over his crew-cut hair. “Give me a full report updated with all new information by Monday.” He gestured towards the scene. “And get all this controlled or I’ll find someone who can.”

Rhett watched him pivot and leave and tried not to hate him too much. He was under just as much if not more pressure than Rhett. Still, the detective felt a familiar pounding in his temples, blood rushing in his ears. He turned to find Chase, Stevie, and Jen looking at him with stressed expressions.

“I’m fine, guys. I’ll wrap up. You go home for the weekend.”

…

“I’m just so goddamn sick of spinning my wheels,” Rhett complains later in Link’s apartment. The latter is sitting up in his bed, watching Rhett pull on his boxers, then his jeans.

Link yawns. “Well, nothing clears the old mind quite like a nice stress-fuck.”

Rhett smirks at the other man over his shoulder and sits back down on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

“What makes somebody do something like that?” Link suddenly asks quietly. Rhett yanks on his laces.

“Bad childhood. Some trauma. Fucked in the head in general. You name it.”

Link hums in thought. When Rhett tugs his shirt over his head, Link whines and comes up behind him to wrap his arms around the detective’s shoulders.

“You gotta leave?” he purrs against Rhett’s ear. Rhett shivers and cranes his neck to press a brief kiss to Link’s mouth.

“I really should,” Rhett says, smoothing down Link’s hair, eyes not leaving his lips. He leans in for another kiss, this one slightly longer. Link sighs when Rhett gets up and the taller man knows he’s leaving questions hanging in the air. But Rhett isn’t equipped to answer them right now and he suspects Link isn’t either, so he picks up his belt and runs a thumb over Link’s pouting lip, tipping his chin up to make Link look at him.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Link nods curtly and flops back onto his bed, watching Rhett’s broad form disappear through the door and pull it shut behind him.

…

“List of those names!” Chase says, strolling up to Rhett’s desk and plopping a small stack down. Rhett jumps slightly and picks them up, flipping through.

“Well, that narrows it down,” Rhett says, scratching the back of his head. And it does. By several hundred. But there’s still a ton of possible profiles here.

“Yeah, I had to expand a little to account for some variables, but here’s a viable suspect list as of right now.”

“Great job, Chase. I’ll divide these up and we can start trying to divide and conquer.”

Rhett begins to scan the information when his text alert dings.

_Hey. My friend will talk. Meet us at the park in 30.-Link_

Rhett stands up quickly and grabs his things. He spots Stevie coming out of the bathroom and is ashamed to dodge her.

…

“He had, uh, brown hair. Long kinda? I didn’t get a great look at him. But he had a short beard. A little stubble. I could feel it when I got away.”

Rhett nods encouragingly. “That’s great, Benny. Was he tall? Short?”

Link’s friend, a guy roughly his age with light brown skin and brown eyes, shrugs. “About my height maybe. Not skinny but not a big dude either? I’m sorry.”

Rhett smiles. “No, you’ve been very helpful. Just be careful and let me know if you see anything else.” Link and Benny whisper to each other and Rhett gets up from the concrete park table they’ve been sitting at to stretch.

“You’re tall.” The darker skinned man says, eyeing Rhett.

“He’s working Benny, back off.” Link snaps at his friend.

“So am I.” Benny shoots back, smiling at Rhett. The detective snorts and just puts his notepad back in his pocket. Link glares at the man beside him.

“Benny, thanks for the help.” Rhett says politely, shaking his hand. Benny mutters in disappointment and walks off.

“You think it’s your guy?” Link asks as they start walking together. Rhett hums.

“Hard to say. Our perp usually goes for women. This could just be a coincidence.” Link nods and pushes his glasses up, and Rhett notices the outfit he’s wearing today. Black skinny jeans with a red hoodie that’s a little big on him. Rhett looks away but lets their arms brush together. They get to the place that leads back to Rhett’s office and stop, facing each other on the sidewalk. Rhett studies study every inch of Link’s face, but Link’s blue eyes stay calmly on Rhett’s green.

“So.” Link says.

“So.” Rhett echoes back, and Link fights back a smile. They know what they’re waiting on, one of them to initiate their normal song and dance, suggest a nearby hotel, Rhett’s car, Link’s place. Rhett runs his tongue over his lips but doesn’t budge. Finally, Link sighs and steps forward, closing the space between them. Rhett closes his eyes and leans down but is met instead with Link’s cheek brushing against the stubble on the side of his own face.

“You left this the other night,” Link whispers, pushing something into Rhett’s hand. And then he’s gone, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets and whistling cheerfully.

Rhett stares after him, confused, and looks down at what Link has given him. It’s Rhett’s watch. He clasps it on, glancing up at the corner Link has just turned before shaking his head and heading back to work.

…

 “I…where are you getting this information, again?” Stevie asks. It’s a legitimate question. Rhett just doesn’t have the most legitimate answers.

“Around.” He swallows.

“Around?”

“Yep.”

“Ok, Rhett.” Stevie breathes, annoyed.

Rhett feels it again, the guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. But she’s not pushing and he’s not giving. The middle of the week finds them tired and sleepless again, strained from dead-ends and fruitless leads. It helps to have narrowed the search down, though, Rhett doling out sheets for them to comb through, slow and steady.

Rhett is going back to the break room for his fourth cup of coffee that day when a timid voice stops him in the hall.

“Um, excuse me? Are you Detective McLaughlin? In charge of the—the, ah, Smiling Slasher case?”

Rhett is immediately alert, taking the woman in; she’s thin and small, with long red hair and a narrow face. Probably around middle-age. Her brown eyes are wide and uneasy. Rhett smiles warmly at her and softens his stance.

“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”

The woman fiddles with her purse as she struggles to find the words. Finally, she bites her lip and pulls out a photograph. It’s of a teenage girl with a round, pale face and shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair.

Rhett takes it from her and studies it.

“My name is Marcy Brown. This is my daughter, Katie. And I—I think she—

The woman’s voice breaks, and she covers her mouth with a trembling hand. She closes her eyes, tears making their way down her face. Rhett waits.

“I think she might have been the first body you all found.”

Rhett’s eyes snap to her face, and then back to the photo. He squints, and though the girl in the picture is chubby-faced with youth and health, very different than the last time Rhett saw her alive, it clicks.

“Your daughter was Iris, ma’am?”

Mrs. Brown nods helplessly and sobs openly now. Rhett’s heart clenches, and he bends down to her level to speak softly.

“Come this way with me, Mrs. Brown.” She nods and takes his arm.

…

Rhett watches through the window of the interview room as Stevie slides the poor woman a glass of water. Jen comes up beside him.

“She found out her daughter died through the paper. Took her a bit to put two and two together.” Rhett says quietly. Jen shakes her head.

“That’s terrible, man. Where’s she been all this time?”

Rhett shrugs. “Apparently the girl ran away as a teen and mom’s only had sporadic contact since then. Katie was her only child.” Rhett says, more to himself, as he watches the woman caress the photo, a relic from a sweet girl long gone. Her daughter will stay like that forever in that photo and Rhett hopes it comforts Marcy. When they exit the room, Mrs. Brown is dabbing at her eyes with a cloth Rhett gave her. She stops in front of him and composes herself.

“Detective.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She hesitates and then silently holds out the photo. “Please take this.”

Rhett wrinkles his brow and shakes his head. “Mrs. Brown, I couldn’t—

“Please. It’s my favorite picture of Katie. I assume you don’t have any other pictures of her when she was—well—

A couple of tears slip from her eyes and land on the photo, her grief staining the paper.

“I just want people to know she was someone’s baby.”

She smiles weakly at Rhett as he hesitantly takes the photo, and Stevie puts a hand on her shoulder and leads her off. Rhett watches them, but then walks over the whiteboard. He flips it over and traces the timeline of victims, heading back to the start. What was only maybe two months ago feels like a lifetime. He finds Iris’s name, wipes it out and writes “Katie Brown” and then tapes the photo above it. Rhett stays there at the board for a long time.

…

When Rhett gets to the top of the nearby unused cement building he’d asked Link to meet him at via a short text, his eyes dully scan the area until he sees Link, walking on the side like a balance beam, arms spread out. Rhett is distantly worried. The man is not coordinated enough for that. But Link glances up and jumps down when he sees the detective, bending his knees on impact but standing with a dramatic flourish. He gives Rhett a bright smile.

“What’s up?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair out of his face. Rhett swallows and his eyes flicker up and down Link’s form.

“Rhett? You oka—

Rhett hooks two fingers through the beltloops at Link’s hips and pulls him forward, crushing their mouths together with bruising force.

Link makes a surprised noise but responds to the tone Rhett has set, letting their teeth knock together, lets Rhett grip his hips painfully tight. They break after a few minutes, Rhett’s eyes half-lidded and slightly feral. Link’s face is flushed, blue eyes waiting for Rhett, mouth red. The buzzing in the back of Rhett’s head is starting to quell, but it’s not quite enough. He pushes Link to the edge of the railing and turns him around, mouth going to the back of Link’s neck. Link understands what he’s getting at, immediately going pliant under the bigger man. Rhett’s shaking hands reach around to go for Link’s pants, lift his shirt up. His skin, his scent. _Make it stop,_ Rhett’s mind pleads, fingers digging into Link’s shoulder. Too hard, he knows. Too hard, something in him chides. But he shrugs off his own overcoat and gives Link a shove, bending him so he’s leaning to grip the railing. He wraps an arm around Link’s waist and begins to unbutton his own fly with his other hand.

“ _Yes_ ,” Link says, guttural and dirty from his throat. It doesn’t sound like Link but Rhett doesn’t care.

“Fuck me. Come on, give me your—

“Stop that,” Rhett says shortly, flinching slightly. Link’s movements falter.

“Stop what?”

“Being so—you don’t have to do all that.”

Link snorts and looks over his shoulder at Rhett. “Do all _what_ , Rhett?”

“You don’t have to be so…crude. You don’t have to talk like that with me.”

Link straightens up, turning around out of Rhett’s grasp to face him. There are dark circles under his eyes too, Rhett’s just now noticing.

“What do you want from me, Rhett?” Link asks tiredly. Rhett looks away.

“I don’t know. But we don’t have to do that.”

“Oh really? Because we were about to do that. Have _been_ doing that.” Link retorts, and Rhett’s mind flashes an image of Link on his knees in an alleyway. He swallows guiltily.

“I can’t pretend to be something I’m not just to preserve some fantasy you have, Rhett.”

Rhett knows he’s right but it pisses him off anyway. This is not how he needed this night to go, and his head begins to pound.

“I could start paying you.”

Link flinches now. “Fuck you. I don’t even know why I—

Link shakes his head and begins to walk off. Rhett takes a deep breath and reaches for his arm.

“Hey. Stop, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…been a day.”

Link looks into his face, fiery blue eyes summing him up. He sighs and relaxes. “Yeah, me too. What happened with you?”

Rhett spills the story of the dead girl’s mother, halfway through remembering that Link knew her too. 

“That’s rough, man.” Link says sincerely. Rhett shrugs and rubs his face. They stand there uncertainly on the rooftop, regarding each other and the space between them. Link looks up at one point and smiles, and Rhett raises an eyebrow.

“I can see Venus! I think?”

Rhett looks behind him to where Link is pointing. There’s a bright point in the sky, a little more visible than the others. No telling what it actually is, though. Rhett goes to the edge and Link stands beside him. Far below, cars whiz by under them.

Rhett glances over at him, his smiling profile. He lifts an arm. An invitation, and Link goes to him, pressing to his side. Rhett wraps his arm around Link’s shoulders and leans down to press a kiss to the side of his head.

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”

"Hey, Rhett?"

"Yeah?"

"You couldn't afford me, anyway."

…

 

**A/N: If it’s filler and you know it clap your hands! *clap, clap* But anyways, thanks for reading, I know this was a slower chapter! Hope you enjoyed it anyway! <3 **

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

…

Rhett is in bed with Link when he gets the call that signals their first real break. He dresses faster than Link can rub his eyes and register that Rhett is up, uncurling himself from around Link’s body.

“Hmm? What is it? What’s happening?” the dark-haired man yawns. Rhett glances at his companion and smirks at his messy hair and bleary eyes.

“That was Chase. Apprehension in progress. Live victim. I gotta go.”

“Hey! That’s great, Rhett. Call me later.”

“You’re the clingiest damn prostitute.” Rhett mumbles, hastily lacing up his boots and grabbing his keys.

“Ok, Lenny Briscoe wannabe.”

Rhett chuckles and in a moment of fondness and adrenaline, leans over and presses his lips to Link’s.

“Careful,” Link says softly as the detective pulls away, and there’s something in his voice Rhett can’t quite place. But there’s no time right now, because Rhett’s phone is going off again.

“Bye.” Rhett says one more time, turning away as Link flops down on the bed and pulls the duvet back over his head.

…

“Real deal?” Rhett asks Stevie, barely out of his car. The blonde woman nods.

“We’re pretty sure! Shop owner heard a woman screaming, went out to check, saw her running down the street holding her face. I think this is it, Rhett,” Stevie whispers excitedly, eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Rhett stifles a smile. “I hope so. But let’s slow down. If you think you’re being too careful, be even more careful.”

But even Rhett’s blood is pumping, and he ignores all the noise and sirens and onlookers to get to the cluster of officers surrounding someone sitting in the back of a squad car. Two blue uniforms are arguing over who actually made the arrest; they separate when Rhett approaches, and the detective leans down into the door. Rhett can hear his heartbeat in his ears, everything else falling away into dull background noise. His eyes lock with a pair of brown ones and…Rhett frowns. This is the guy?

“Fellas.” Rhett says, silencing their congratulatory rituals, not taking his eyes off their perp. Rhett notches his chin towards him.

“This is the guy ya’ll caught attacking that woman?”

One officer rolls his eyes. “Yep. Shopkeeper identified him as the man running after the girl while holding a knife. What else do you want?”

Rhett bit the inside of his cheek. “Same M-O? Girl’s face was cut going from her cheek to her neck? Any attempted assault, marks on her neck?”

“McLaughlin. Relax. This is our guy! Don’t get pissed just ‘cause you didn’t get to make the collar.”

They group laughs but Rhett turns back to the pale brunette man sitting in cuffs and looking terrified. He’s talking to himself and Rhett bangs a fist on the side of the patrol car.

“Hey!” the man jumps at the sound of Rhett’s deep, commanding voice.

“What’s your deal?” Rhett asks him, gauging the man’s eye contact and reactions.

The guy looks around, mumbles, then looks back at Rhett. “She was there. She was just there. I don’t know.”

Rhett wrinkles his brow as the suspect jabbers on nonsense. The tall detective slams the door shut and taps the roof twice, and the officer drives him off. Rhett watches the tail-lights disappear with an uneasy pit in his gut.

…

Rhett watches fingerprinting, and then Chase, do their parts of the intake and interview process, cogs turning in his mind, attempting to reconcile the slight, pale, clearly mentally ill man in their interrogation room with the calculated, gruesome crime scenes so far. Stevie comes up beside him, crossing her arms and looking in the window.

“What do you think?”

Rhett sighs and shrugs. “I don’t know, Stevie. Stranger things have happened, but I don’t have a great feeling about this. Too much doesn’t make sense. How’d he let himself be caught? He wasn’t wearing gloves, his hair is the wrong color, the victim’s wound doesn’t match the others closely enough, and c’mon, just look at this guy.” Rhett finishes, exasperated, gesturing to the man through the two-way glass. Stevie bites her lip.

“Ted Bundy didn’t “look” like a serial killer either, Rhett.” She tries lamely. Rhett runs a hand through his hair.

“I know. But Stevie, the dude isn’t all there. You can’t convince me he has it together enough to pull any of this off.”

Stevie studies their perp for another moment. She sighs, resigned.

“Ok, I agree. So what? We got a copycat?”

Rhett hums. “Now that I don’t know.”

Chase looks at the glass and nods, telling Rhett he’s ready for him. Rhett turns to Stevie.

“Can you run his name against our criteria? And hand me all the crime scene files and evidence. I’m gonna try something.”

“I don’t like that look.” Stevie mutters but obliges.

Rhett thanks her and opens the door, letting it click softly behind him. He circles the table, jaw set and eyes fixed with a steel intensity reserved only for these situations. Rhett towers over the man, who has gone white and refuses to look at Rhett. The detective pulls a chair out from under the table and sits directly across from the suspect. He stares at him for several moments before he opens a file, his voice cutting through the discerning silence.

“Lucas Michael Matthews. 32. 5’7, 150 pounds. That you?” Rhett says, cocking an eyebrow, faux disinterested and not waiting for an answer. It’s rhetorical. Rhett’s eyes return to the file.

“Born in Nevada, moved here with an aunt when your mother died.”

Lucas refuses to look at him, hands shaking violently where they’re spread flat on the cold metal table. Rhett studies him, and then stands up, pushing his chair away loudly and slamming his hands on the table. The smaller man makes a noise and raises up to lean away, now looking at Rhett with nothing short of absolute terror.

“I suggest you start fucking talking, Lucas. I know you did this,” Rhett says, laying down a picture of their latest victim. A painful, but ultimately harmless cut goes down her cheek and stops at her chin. The wound is shallow and hesitant, completely missing the sureness and anger of the previous cases. This prostitute also has no signs of attempted further injury to the neck or throat. Lucas looks at the photo and swallows. Rhett studies him intently and then opens another file.

“But what about this?” It’s Katie’s file. Harsh and dark and bloody. Lucas looks away quickly.

“Or this one,” Rhett continues, taking out one of the more decomposed body photos. His suspect blanches.

“Stop,” he says. “Please, stop.”

“So you can do the crime but you can’t even look at them later?” Rhett snorts. He looks at Lucas and reaches for an evidence bag, pausing only briefly over what he knows is a terrible idea. But he lays the knife wrapped in plastic down between them on the table, gauging Matthews’s reaction carefully. The man glances back and forth between Rhett and the object, dull and confused. Rhett speaks calmly but forcefully.

“So what happened, Lucas? Get bullied as a kid? Girls wouldn’t talk to you?”

Lucas looks away. Rhett leans in. “Was mommy a working girl, Lucas?”

The man’s eyes snap to Rhett. “You shut up.” He breathes.

Rhett smiles, shark-like and amused. “That’s it? Mommy issues? C’mon, man. What a cliché. You’re gonna go away for life and not even have the balls to be unique about it.”

Lucas’s hands go to the sides of his head. “Stop it.”

Rhett shrugs. “There’s the knife, man. Come one, where’s that anger? Where’s the guy that butchered nearly eight women beyond recognition? Who slit their throats so deeply they were almost decapitated?”

Lucas glances at the small pocketknife for just a moment before he scrunches his eyes shut and begins to hum. Rhett yanks the man’s hands away from his ears and nudges the knife closer, whispering lowly in his ear.

“You gonna let me talk to you like this, buddy? About your skank of a _mom_?”

“YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH ABOUT MY MOTHER.”

Lucas jumps up and Rhett can hear the doorknob rattling—Chase or someone coming to step in. Rhett waves a hand at the mirror to stop them. He watches the man’s scrawny shoulders heave up and down with each breath. Rhett eyes him coolly.

“It’s right there, Lucas. And I’m right here. So what are you gonna do?” Lucas’s eye twitches, and he mumbles to himself one last time before sinking to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees, shutting down to escape in whatever world he’s created. Rhett watches him for a while and then sighs, gathering up the evidence bag and files.

“Rhett! What were you thinking?! He could’ve attacked you!” Jen says with wide eyes, Chase behind her. Rhett glances at them and then looks back through the glass.

“Jen. Trust me. That man in there has never killed anything in his life. Not a fly, not eight women, and not with that knife.”

“So…what?” Chase says, uncertainty lacing his tone.

 “I’ll wait for Stevie to get back with some results just to be sure. Chase, walk Rambo here to a holding cell in the meantime. We’ll book him for assault.” Rhett says. “And then we come back Monday and try again.”

They separate, and Rhett takes one final look at the muttering man on the floor.

…

_Thought we had something. Turned out to be nothing. Well, not nothing. But not what we wanted.-R._

_I’m sorry_ _☹_ _-L_

_It happens. What are you up to?_

_Are you home?-L_

Rhett frowns at the text. _On the way there now._ _Why?-R_

Chat bubbles appear and then reappear a few times. Rhett wrinkles his eyebrows.

_I’m, uh, here.-L_

Rhett is at a stop light, neon signs and other headlights playing across his shadowed face.

_What, at my place? Why?-R_

Link doesn’t answer right away and Rhett can’t check anyway, because the light has turned green. Luckily, it’s such a short drive to his place. Rhett parks and jumps out, heading straight for his building in a half-jog. He slows down when he spots someone on his front stoop, huddled on the concrete steps. Rhett can tell it’s Link, from the dark mop of hair to the way he’s sitting. He approaches Link and drops to a kneel in front of him, laying a hand gently on his knee.

“Link?” Rhett says softly, squeezing his knee. Link startles and looks up, and Rhett bites back a gasp.

Link has a bruise and a cut on one cheek. There’s also a smear of blood under his nose, and the glasses Rhett usually loves to gently reach up and fix for Link are gone. It looks like someone has backhanded him across the face and Rhett sees red, his jaw flexing and clenching as blood rushes to his ears.

“What happened?” Rhett whisper hoarsely. “What happened to you?”

Link cringes, reaching up out of habit to fix dark frames that are no longer there. Rhett takes Link’s hands in his, knowing the man needs something to do with them when he’s nervous.

“I—it’s not a big deal, really. It happens. Sometimes they get a little rough, I—

Link looks away and swallows.

“They? Johns?” Rhett supplies for him, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. Link nods, meeting Rhett’s eyes. Rhett looks into them, and it calms his anger, ebbing out of him like a slow tide.

“Well, c’mon. Let’s get you inside.”

“No—I—I’m being silly. I really shouldn’t have just shown up here without asking, I’m sorry, Rhett.” Link gets up to leave but Rhett stops him.

“Hey. Link, come on. Let’s go inside. Come on.”

Link sighs wearily and allows himself to be lead, leaning against Rhett as the taller man guides them inside.

…

“Almost finished,” Rhett says apologetically, dabbing a cotton ball with disinfecting salve on the wound on Link’s cheek. This he can do. This is what he’s used to, calmly and detachedly listening to stories and taking care of wounds. It’s what’s keeping his rage at bay right now, knowing Link needs him here, steady, calm.

“So then what happened?” Link says as Rhett wipes up excess liquid around the wound.

Rhett laughs shortly. “You should’ve seen him. Your Nan probably could’ve taken him.”

Link laughs and Rhett smiles at the sound. “Not your guy, then?”

“Nah. But that’s how it goes,” Rhett shrugs. He closes the first-aid kit he keeps under his sink and grabs Link’s elbows to steady him as he hops down off the counter.

“I’m okay, Rhett.” Link whispers, smiling sweetly at the detective. Rhett swallows.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“It happens, Rhett. And I took care of it. I’m not exactly a little guy, Rhett. You’re just so big you forget that.” He adds, slapping Rhett lightly on the shoulder as he walks out of the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Rhett asks, puzzled, when it looks like Link is getting ready to leave.

“Heading home. I, uh, I’m sorry. Again. For bothering you right after work, and just showing up at your place, and—

“Link. You’re not fine and that’s fine. Your face needs to heal. You really want to go home alone right now? Feeling and looking like this?”

Link rubs his arms. “No.” He finally mumbles. Rhett nods, gathering some blankets and pillows. He tosses them on the couch and then goes to his room to straighten up his bed. When he re-enters the living room, Link is situating himself on the couch.

“What are you doing?” Rhett says, amused.

Link rubs the back of his head, confused. “Uh, I thought…”

Rhett shakes his head, his eyes softening when he understands what Link thought. “No, Link, geez. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch. I was gonna let you take my bed tonight.”

Link’s eyes went wide. “And you sleep on the couch?! Rhett, you can’t fold yourself enough times to fit on this thing! No.”

“I just wanted you to be comfortable, why are you being difficult?” Rhett says.

Link rolled his eyes in a gesture all too familiar to the detective by now. “Yeah, I’m being difficult. God. Fine. I’ll sleep in the bed. But you come with me.” He offers, eyes twinkling mischievously. But Rhett’s stomach feels ill. He takes in the butterfly bandage on Link’s cheek, his previously bleeding and now slightly swollen nose, and feels absolutely ill. And now Link thinks…thinks Rhett would… _because you have_ , Rhett’s mind intrudes.

“Hey. I’m kidding.” Links interjects, perhaps gauging Rhett’s discomfort. “Not about us just going to bed, though.”

Rhett nods hesitantly and leads Link to his room, not looking at Link as his mind wonders back to the first time Link was in the soft, big bed they’re currently climbing into. But gosh, that seemed like so long ago.

Link groans when he hits the mattress, letting his head sink into a pillow. Rhett laughs lightly.

“It’s ok?”

“It’s ok.” Link mumbles, opening his eyes again to look at Rhett. They regard each other and this feels unnerving. Overstepping a silent boundary. But Rhett reaches out, smoothing a hand over dark hair that is sometimes black as coal but sometimes looks deep brunette in certain light. Looks into tired deep blue eyes that remind him of an autumn North Carolina sky. How had this happened, Rhett thought. It would be much easier, he thinks, if Link were like any other prostitute around here. But he’s not. He’s intelligent and witty. Sharp and eccentric. Insightful and grounded. Probably because he did not grow up here, Rhett concludes, much like Rhett himself.

“Why are you here, Link?” Rhett whispers. It slips out before he can catch it. Link closes his eyes and breaths a laugh through his nose.

“Why’d you _let_ me come here, Rhett?” he counters gently, eyes struggling to stay open. Rhett licks his lips, mouth suddenly made of sandpaper.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s ok,” Link yawns. “I don’t think we ever really figure that out.” He mumbles, eyes closing. Soon, his breathing falls into a pattern. Rhett watches his chest rise and fall steadily under the white t-shirt he leant Link to sleep in. Quietly, he moves to get up.

“Stay,” Link says as soon as the mattress creaks under Rhett’s weight.

“And?” Rhett prompts.

“I don’t know. Just stay.”

Rhett sighs and settles down next to him, allowing Link to adjust to fit against the curve of Rhett’s body.

“Tell me about Buies Creek.” Link says suddenly, voice back to sleep-addled. Rhett laughs.

“Seriously. I didn’t spend a lot of time there. But I remember Cape Fear River. And riding my bike. And the people were nice. What was it like to grow up there?”

So Rhett props himself up on one elbow to lean over Link as he told the dark-haired man about his little southern town. The ups and the downs, the stunts Rhett pulled, the warm summers and stars you could see for miles. He’s getting lost in his own memories, green eyes dancing as he recounts his childhood to Link. Just as he thinks the smaller man has fallen asleep, Link stirs slightly as Rhett is turning off the lamp.

“Rhett? D’you think we would’ve been friends?” Link slurs from his half-sleep.

Rhett smiles and lets his own tired head hit the pillow. “I like to think so.”

_I think I’d know you in any life_ , he thinks but does not say.

In the dark, he can feel Link smile.

“s’ nice. Real nice.”

…

Rhett wakes and can’t feel his right arm. Slightly confused and alarmed, he turns sleepy eyes and immediately relaxes. Link is curled next to him, snoring lightly. He knows how Link sleeps. But this is different, he thinks, much different than their normal frenzied, heated interactions that leave them both sweating and stripped apart. Rhett usually leaves before he gets to see Link like this, and it’s nice. Barring the fact that there’s a hurt prostitute in his bed, Rhett amends internally, feeling that old anxious desire to keep this—whatever this was—at arm’s length. But then Link rolls over and opens his eyes just enough so that Rhett catches a sliver of blue beneath dark lashes. He swallows as Link stretches and becomes more awake, stretches and looking at Rhett clearly.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They stare at each other before laughing and looking down.

“I, uh…sorry. And thanks again.” Link says sheepishly. Rhett shakes his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, brother.” He replies simply.

Link smiles gratefully at him and Rhett reaches out again, runs his hand through dark bedhead, ghosts his fingertips over bruises and healing wounds. Link sighs, letting his eyelashes flutter shut under Rhett’s large hands. Rhett moves to lean over him again, dark hair fanned out against the white pillow, a lazy smile on his face. Rhett has so many questions for him, about him. Where did you get your resilience from? Was it forged in fire or born into you? How’d you get to LA? What went wrong?

But for now, Rhett cups links face in his hands, strokes his thumbs very carefully over his cheeks, leans down to plant a light peck to his lips. Link sighs again, turning his head into one of Rhett’s hands, and Rhett wonders when the last time anyone’s ever done this for Link. Loved on him, touched him kindly. He learned it from somewhere, Rhett can tell. He sinks into it too easily, but his eagerness tells Rhett he hasn’t had this in a long time. Link shifts, raising up his arms to wrap loosely around the detective. He adjusts against the pillows and spreads his knees a little, and Rhett moves to rest comfortably between them. Rhett looks down at Link, a familiar but more relaxed glint in his blue eyes, and groans as Link rolls his hips up. Rhett lets his forehead rest on Link’s shoulder and instinctively returns the movement. Link lets his head tilt back, and Rhett presses his lips, heated but non-urgent, to Link’s neck. It goes as things normally end up between them, except this is a slow, warm drag of each other’s bodies, not their shameless rutting in the front seat of Rhett’s car.

Link smells like summer and salt, his breath hitching and catching in Rhett’s ear as they move. Rhett buries his face in Link’s thick hair as he bares down against the shorter man one more time, a single violent shiver rippling through him as Link follows, clutching onto Rhett and tightening the hold of his legs around Rhett’s. Rhett lowers down onto him gently as they come down, Link playing with the dirty-blonde curls against Rhett’s scalp.

“I need a shower.” Link says abruptly through another yawn.

Rhett snorts. “Yeah. Same. There are towels under the sink. Meet you in there?” He gives Link’s hip a playful squeeze as they make themselves get up, and Rhett feels…light. If he thinks about it too long, he’s sure he can make that rock appear in his chest again, but he allows himself to grab some clothes, listen to another person rustle around in his home and it not be immediately unwanted. Link is already under the hot spray when Rhett comes in, eyes closed under the water. He opens one when he hears the door, grinning when Rhett slips his shirt over his head and steps out of his boxers. He gives Link a wink and the other man laughs and shakes his head, making room for Rhett’s large frame. They wash their separate, respective troubles and grime off of them, Link being careful of his face and bandages, and Rhett stills when Link turns around and gives him a view of the back of his shoulder. There are four fading but distinct fingerprint bruises, and Rhett’s mind races, blood beginning to boil once again. Had he missed those last night? Was the attack worse than Link had let on---

Rhett’s mind stops on a memory roulette in his mind. An image of the two of them on the roof flashes before him and Rhett squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. He’d done that. He’d done that when he’d met Link that night, pissed off and stressed and ready to take it out on someone who Rhett knew would take it. He’s no better, he knows. No better than whoever had put those bruises on Link’s face last night, no better than a common John—

“Rhett? You ok?” Link asks through the steam. Rhett opens his eyes and takes in the man in front of him, who he has for some reason brought into his home and suddenly he feels nauseous.

“I need some air.” Rhett mumbles quickly, stepping out of his shower.

“Oh! Ok, uh—

Rhett wraps himself in a towel and goes to sit on his bed. After a few minutes, Link follows hesitantly.

“Rhett? What is it?” Link plops down beside the taller man, in a pair of boxers and the shirt he’d worn over to Rhett’s, dark hair wet and plastered down.

“I’m sorry, Link.” Rhett says, rubbing his face. “I can’t do this. I don’t know how I let it get like this, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to—

“Rhett, what?” Link cuts in impatiently. Rhett looks at him and then away again.

“I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt you I can’t keep…we can’t keep…

“Rhett, do you like being with me?”

Rhett blinked at him. At his waiting smile and patient raised eyebrows. Reluctantly, Rhett nods.   
“Yeah.”

“Good. Me too. So why worry about anything else right now?”

Rhett turns to him fully on the bed. “I’ve treated you like a client, Link. Like a…john.”

Link huffs. “Please. Rhett, I don’t bring johns back to my home.”

“Say what now?”

Link laughs at his expression. “Yeah. It’s just a personal rule. A standard, I guess.”

“You have standards?”

“Apparently not, hot shot,” Link’s voice cuts, glaring at Rhett meaningfully. The detective laughs.

“Anyway. I don’t bring clients back to my place. So take that for what you will.”

Rhett thinks. “So…what does that make me.”

Link considers him for a long time.

“I don’t know. Not a john.”

He smiles at Rhett and the detective smiles back.

…

Rhett knows his office and co-workers well enough to gauge when something is wrong. So when he walks into the office Monday and his guard immediately goes up, a pit forms in his stomach. He's going to get an ulcer, he's sure. He's positive of it when Stevie bounds to him, eyes wide.

"We won't let them do it, Rhett." She says, determined and defiant. But her voice shakes. Rhett's heart rate picks up.

"Won't let them do what, Stevie?" he asks apprehensively, studying her face. She raises her hands to her hips. Sets her jaw. One of his habits.

"Take you off the case." She says, meeting his eyes. Rhett is taken aback and confused. "What?" he whispers.

She jerks her head angrily towards the precinct boss's closed door.

"Take you off the case. It won't happen, I promise."

She sets her gaze, resolute, and looks about a hundred times more confident than Rhett has felt in weeks.

...

 

**A/N: Ya’ll are the best, thank you so much for the comments. They’ve meant the world <3 Also, uh, I made a little playlist of songs that have come into my head while writing this, so…enjoy, I guess lol? Let me know if you think of any more! I’ll put it at the end of the final chapter as well! And as always, thanks for reading!! **

Cherry Bomb-The Runaways (Link’s theme)

Dancing in the Dark-Bruce Springsteen (Rhett’s theme)

Code Blue-The Dream

Lady Marmalade-Patti Labelle

Me-The 1975

Angeles-Elliott Smith

Want to in Your Eyes-Conway Twitty

You Shook Me All Night Long-AC/DC

Since I’ve Been Loving You-Led Zeppelin

Bad Things-Machine Gun Kelly

Neon Moon-Brooks and Dunn

Gasoline-Halsey

Take Me to Church-Hozier

Just a Little Bit-henryd

Is There Somewhere-Halsey

Blue Eyes Crying-Willie Nelson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for sticking around! <3**

…

“Did you let a prime suspect in the Slasher case go?”

“I did not.”

Rhett’s supervisor stares him down, tapping a finger on his desk.

“Did you decide he was no longer a suspect without first consulting me?”

“Sir. With all due respect, you trusted me and my team with this case. I am perfectly capable of weeding out suspects and doing basic detective work. It is my title.” Rhett struggled to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Lucas Matthews did not fit our description or profile in any way, shape, or form and I strongly suspect he read the newspaper and wanted the attention. I did not want to miss something just because we’re all eager to catch this guy.”

A pause. “Did you attempt to goad a suspect into attacking you with a knife you brought into the interview room and _offered_ to him?”

Rhett cringed briefly. “Uh. That was more of an intimidation tactic, sir. I needed to discern some things about the suspect’s behavior, and in order to do that—

“Oh, Christ, save it,” he cuts in, rubbing his face.

Rhett swallows.

“Detective McLaughlin. Is this case too much for you?”

Rhett’s entire body tenses. “No, sir. What makes you say that?” He knows damn well what. But he wants to hear it. To make him as uncomfortable to say it as it makes Rhett to hear it.

“You have a history of…shall we call them personal issues.”

“Again, sir, with respect, show me a cop who doesn’t. I had one incident in the fifteen years I have been working for this force. Before and since then, I have been nothing but cooperative and exemplary in my service and I do not believe I have done anything to be kicked off this case aside from not catching him yet.” Rhett suddenly remembers something Chase said and adds, “I don’t believe they fired the detective who couldn’t catch the Zodiac killer. Sir.”

The man across from him lifts an unamused, questioning eyebrow. Rhett shuts his mouth. After a few insufferable minutes of listening to the _tic toc_ of the wall clock, Rhett is dismissed with a sigh.

“Just…we’re watching, Rhett.”

Rhett nods and stands, pivoting to turn. He clicks the door closed behind him, looking up and blinking in surprise, greeted by the sight of Chase, Stevie, and Jen, frozen and staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m clear for now, guys. Kinda.”

Everyone lets out their breath.

Rhett can’t catch his.

…

“They want to what?” Link says, biting into an apple from Rhett’s fridge he’s helped himself to.

“They want to take me off the case.” Rhett responds, using the corner of his kitchen counter to pop a beer bottle top off. He takes a swig and Link watches him thoughtfully.

“What?” Rhett prompts.

Link smiles and shrugs. “Nothing.”

The bruises on his face have faded from angry, deep purple and red to a dull brown. Rhett checks them closely each day, ghosts his hands over the remnants of the violence, and Link always leans into him. It’s a surreal and strange arrangement, theirs. Link has been sleeping mostly at Rhett’s apartment since the attack, and though they haven’t talked about it, neither one wishing to upset this teetering balance, Rhett suspects Link will go home when his face has completely healed, slipping back into the night he was cut from.

“Did you get a chance to go over the sheets I gave you?”

Rhett had given Link a copy of the pages of suspects Chase had made, hoping maybe Link would come across a familiar face. But Rhett continued to underestimate just how densely populated even their smaller slice of LA was, and so far Link was coming up empty.

“Got through a couple more pages today. Sorry, man. Would this guy even fuck prostitutes if he hates them so much?” Link asks, scrunching up his face in thought.

“You’d be surprised. There’s a good chance he doesn’t even hate them. They could represent something to him or…

Rhett shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“No, I like your work. It’s interesting. If I could handle blood, guns, death, bodies, crying, violence, or vomit, I’d be all over it.”

Rhett snorts and nearly spits out his beer. “Oh yeah, if it weren’t for those pesky basic job functions.”

“A dream deferred. What are ya gonna do?” Link sighs wistfully.

Rhett shakes his head. “Hey, you wanna catch some old-school Star Trek reruns on the Sci-fy channel later?” he asks casually, though he averts his eyes in anxiety. It’s awkward, dangerous territory, whatever this is they’ve cultivated, and Rhett fears shattering it with the suggestion of something far too sickeningly domestic.

Link gives him a soft gaze. “I’d like that.”

…

Rhett makes it to the episode where Spock thinks he’s killed Jim before his eyelids begin to close against his will. Link sits at his feet on the floor with a bowl of popcorn and several times, Rhett notes that if he wanted to, he might reach out and rake the tips of his fingers through the dark curls at the base of Link’s neck.

But only if he wanted to.

Right now, however, his body gives a jerk as he falls asleep, his head rolling back against the couch cushion, the images on screen mixing with the half-waking dreams on the brink of his subconscious.

“Rhett?”

Link says quietly, tapping the taller man’s knee. Rhett raises his eyebrows but does not open his eyes. He hears Link put the bowl down and turn off the television.

“Hey, get up, man. Come on, let’s get you to bed big guy.”

Rhett stands, grunting as he stretches and letting himself be grounded by the hand on his arm. Is this what Link is like when he thinks no one can see him? Rhett is learning things about Link. The silent truths in his everyday actions. Link likes cereal, so Rhett keeps a couple boxes stocked. Link enjoys reading. Rhett sometimes comes home to find the dark-haired man reclined on his couch with a book. Link is a bit of a nerd, much to Rhett’s delight. Link loves music. Link is…laying Rhett’s cumbersome form down on the bed, clicking off the bedside lamp. Rhett distantly thinks he will probably head to the couch now, since it appears nothing physical will be happening between them tonight. Link has been careful since that night Rhett bandaged the wounds he could see and soothed the ones he couldn’t, no longer showcasing parts of himself for Rhett to decline or accept. But then the detective is surprised by the mattress dipping on either side of him. He opens one eye and cranes his neck to find that Link has straddled his hips.

“What are you--?”

“Hush.” Link says quietly.

Rhett makes a foggy, sleepy noise of confusion. Link hikes Rhett’s shirt up past his shoulders and before the taller man can wonder again what he’s doing, he feels the gentle but purposeful pressing of fingertips into his shoulders. Link’s hands make small circles and Rhett immediately sighs.

“You don’t have to.” He protests weakly.

“I know. Shh.” Link says, dismissing the need for words for the night. He presses his palms in between Rhett’s shoulderblades and then slides his hands down the length of Rhett’s spine, stopping at the base to dig the heel of his hand in, snorting softly in the dark when Rhett groans into the pillow. Slowly but deftly, Link’s strong hands work the muscles in Rhett’s shoulders and back, unlocking points of tension Rhett didn’t even know he had. Finally, when Rhett is on the cusp of dreams again, he feels Link shift again, moving to drop down beside Rhett.

His weight is warm and solid at Rhett’s side.

The breath on the back of Rhett’s neck is gone the next morning and so is Link.

…

No rest for the weary. That was a saying, right? Rhett rubs his eyes and saunters into the station. He stops dead in his tracks, an unidentifiable sense of foreboding settling into his chest. Everyone is harried and busy but it’s too quiet. Rhett looks around.

“Chase? Update.”

The brunette young man runs a hand through his hair. “We have a possible victim missing.”

Rhett pulls back and looks at him. “What?!”

Chase nods, almost apologetically. “A working girl went missing last night. Yanked into a beige car. That could be anyone and mean anything, but—

“Got it,” Rhett interrupts, mind already kicking into gear. Link. He should call Link, ask if he knows anything. The dark-haired man picks up on the third ring.

“Hey—

“Who’re you calling?” Stevie inquires, pulling on her light windbreaker. Rhett fumbles the phone, hanging up on Link’s confused “Rhett?”

“No one. Let’s go.”

…

“I’m telling you, she was there and then she wasn’t.” The young man says adamantly. Jen raises her hands and lowers her voice.

“No one is saying you didn’t see what you saw. We just need to know a little more.” 

The young man’s jaw clenched. “I bet we wouldn’t be having this conversation if I looked the right way.”

Jen opens her mouth again as Rhett approaches. “Hello sir, I’m Detective Rhett McLaughlin, is there something I can—

The guy turns to him and Rhett cuts off abruptly, pulling a file from somewhere in his brain. Recognition dawns on the both of them.

“Hey! I know you.” The kid says loudly, pointing at Rhett. Jen whips her head around to Rhett, and Stevie and a few patrolmen are staring now too. Rhett’s eyes dart around. 

“It’s not—it’s not like that—I—Jen, why don’t you let me field this one, kay?”

She gives him a look but walks off to assist elsewhere. Rhett leans down to the young man.

“You’re one of Link’s friends I interviewed at that nightclub, correct?” Rhett says lowly.

The young prostitute nods. “Yep. She wasn’t, though. Her names Candi and I’m telling you, man, it’s this guy. The guy you said you were going to get.”

Rhett rubs his temples. “This isn’t a simple thing, alright? What did you see? What did you hear?”

Rhett takes out his notebook and scribbles ad the kid talks. Jen walks him away when they’re done, and Rhett turns to find Stevie behind him, arms crossed, a perplexed look on her face.

“Rhett?”

The detective shrugs. “I’ve talked to him before.”

Stevie tilts her head. “One of your leads?” she inquires flatly. Not expecting a real answer. Rhett sighs.

“Yeah, Stevie.” 

“Okay, Rhett. Okay.”

…

Rhett comes in to what he believes is an empty apartment, chucking his keys on the table and flopping onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. The pounding pressure has returned in the back of his head, in time with the pulse in his neck and wrist. Rhett can almost put a tune to it, like when they taught him in CPR class to time his breaths to “Stayin’ Alive.”

“Rhett?”

The tall man sits up on the couch. “Link? Did you get my text?”

“Yeah, I heard. I don’t know her.” Links calls out, already anticipating Rhett’s next question. The fog is thick in Rhett’s brain today, and he can barely hear Link through it. But like always for some reason, his ears set their stations to the smaller man’s frequency. The fall of Link’s footsteps in his hallway are comforting, and it sounds like Link is wearing boots.

“How do I look?”

Rhett drops his hands and lets his eyes adjust to the image of Link clearing up in front of him. When it does…

Link is wearing black skinny jeans, black boots with decorative chains looped around them, and a thin dark blue shirt that hugs his shoulders and stops just above his hips. If he reaches up or leans over, Rhett thinks, a strip of smooth skin is going to show.

Link reads Rhett’s gaze and smirks smugly. “Good.”

But he turns away to hide the blush sneaking up the back of his neck.

“Wait, are you—are you going _out_?” The detective asks incredulously. Link blinks at him.

“Well yeah, Rhett. I’ve been taking it too easy, man, I gotta get back out there.” There’s a distance to his tone that Rhett doesn’t like.

Anxiety and something akin to honest to go jealousy bloom in Rhett’s chest. He licks his lips. 

“I really don’t mind you staying here, y’know.” He tries. Link glances at him.

“I know. But I’m gonna run out of money, man.” He picks up the small pouch that he clips to the inside of his jeans to keep money in. Rhett’s eyes follow his movements.

“Link, why don’t you just stay here?”

“I _have_ been staying here.” He knows what Rhett meant and Rhett knows it. The pointed look tells Rhett to leave this alone. But Rhett is tired. And sad and just _tired_.

“Your face isn’t completely healed and another prostitute was kidnapped today, Link.” He says, and Link pauses at the anger creeping into the edges of Rhett’s voice.

“And? Rhett, I can’t not make money.”

“Let me pay you.” Rhett cringes as soon as it’s out.

Link’s jaw tightens. “What?”

“So you don’t have to go out there until your face heals and you at least get another pair of glasses, man. You can’t go out like this. Especially not right now.”

It’s pathetic and desperate, Rhett wants to say but doesn’t.

Link’s eyes flash. “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Rhett notes the sharpness and slightly southern lilt to Link’s voice and knows he’s in dangerous territory.

“Just so you don’t feel like you have to, you know, work just yet.” Rhett’s chest tightens.

_Don’t leave._

Link studies him. “We were doing ok, man, where’d all this come from?”

Rhett sighs. “I just don’t think it’s smart.”

Link snorts. “Oh, I’m not being smart? What, it’s not enough that I’ve fucked you nearly every night for the past week, you gotta control me now, too?”

Rhett closes his eyes, clenches his own jaw.

_You also gave me a backrub. Watched crime documentaries with me. Marathoned Game of Thrones._

“This isn’t your world, detective. I know what I am. And I know that you—

“You don’t know me.” Rhett nearly growls. Green eyes steely cold. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Cold sweat coats his palms.

Link shrugs. “No. You’ve made sure of that. But I’m sure as heck ain’t taking orders or advice from a man who’s so lonely for company he begs a goddamn prostitute to stay with him. God, you cops are all alike.”

It burns like acid in Rhett’s chest. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to have my life evaluated by a freaking whore.”

The shoe drops. Rhett’s chest deflates, and his eyes scan Link’s face. Just a split second, but Rhett catches it. The way the dark-haired man’s face goes slack for a split second before the corners of his eyes and mouth harden back up.

“Link.”

“Don’t. I—this wasn’t a good idea.” Link mumbles, and Rhett knows he’s not just talking about this discussion.

“I’m gonna go.”

Rhett doesn’t speak. He feels distant. Separated from everything going on.

“See you around,” Link says, opening Rhett’s door.

The timing, Rhett thinks, would be comedic if there was anything funny about the situation. Link opens the door to find a small blonde figure on the other side. He’s half an inch from running into her.

“Oh!” Stevie says at the same time Link jumps back, Stevie’s hand still raised in a fist to knock.

“Stevie.” Rhett says. His mouth goes dry. No. This can’t be happening. This can’t happen.

“I just wanted to check on you. Am I—did I catch you at a bad time?” Stevie says, glancing cautiously back and forth between the two men.

Blue eyes lock with Rhett’s. The detective can see glimmers of the guy who was fighting those officers and staring daggers at Rhett.

Rhett make the same silent, internal plea.

Don’t. Please, don’t.

Link’s jaw flexes but he glances away, and Rhett relaxes marginally.

“No. I’m just leaving.” He does, storming past Stevie and into the hall. Rhett pictures his retreating frame.

Stevie blinks at Rhett, who is watching the doorway vacantly.

“Rhett?”

“Hmm? Yeah?”

Stevie holds up a box of donuts.

“I got your favorites.”

Rhett forces a tight smile and motions for her to come in.

…

“So your pages are coming up empty, too?” Stevie asks dejectedly, looking through Rhett’s copies. Rhett sighs.

“Yeah, so far. Just feels like I’m not making a dent.”

Stevie hums and agreement. This has been hard on her, Rhett realizes. The whole young team.

“You good, Stevie?”

She sighs and shrugs. “Sure. Just frustrated.”

Rhett feels that familiar taste of guilt in his mouth. But that was too close. Almost too disastrous, two forces in his life brushing against each other in his door.

“Hey.” Stevie says, getting his attention.

“You may need to get another copy from Chase. You’re missing a page. See?”

Rhett takes it from her and looks. The numbers at the bottom skip one in the stack, and the staples hold what appears to be a torn off corner.

“Hmm. Thanks, I must’ve lost it.” Rhett mumbles, wrinkling his eyebrows.

“No problemo, boss. Welp, I better get going.”

Rhett smiles at her. “Yeah, get home while you’ve got someone to go home to.”

“Geez, Rhett.”

“Sorry, no, I just mean it means a lot with this job.”

Stevie nods but eyes him, concerned. “Can’t argue that. Night, Rhett.”

“Night, Stevie.”

Rhett locks the door behind her and turns back to his empty apartment. He pats his hands against his legs, sits down, gets up. This is silly, he thinks. He’s lived alone for years now. But the sudden quietness is disconcerting, like a black hole. Rhett turns on the tv for background noise and on a whim, goes to a box in his closet and pulls out an old photo album. He’s homesick, has been for a while now, and the loss of another presence with him only amplifies the distance in his mind of others who were once next to him. Rhett caresses photos of familiar faces and feels a pull towards the woods in the background of most of them. Around midnight, Rhett snaps it shut and turns out his light, resolute. It’s insane, he knows, taking vacation in the middle of a murder investigation while he’s under scrutiny, but screw it, he has the leave time built up. Rhett’s mind begins to buzz with excitement. He’d only need a couple days. Fly up early on a Friday. Come back late Sunday or early Monday. He needs North Carolina.

He needs Buies Creek.

Rhett turns over on his side and sighs, involuntarily inhaling the scent of another shampoo.

Maybe Link could come, he lets the ridiculous idea plant its seed. Yeah. Link hasn’t been back in Buies Creek since he was a little kid. Rhett could show Link where he grew up. Take Link up and down old bike paths, eat a home cooked meal. Link could show Rhett where his old house was. Yeah. The ridiculous idea was sounding less ridiculous. Link next to him on a plane, looking out the window, turning to smile excitedly at Rhett when flat plains and woodsy landscapes come into view. Maybe he could even take Link camping. Make a firepit, laugh under the stars, sneak into the tent and--

Rhett falls asleep to the sounds of bullfrogs and crickets he keeps locked in his memory.

…

The next morning, Rhett tells Stevie simply that he will not be in today. He’s going home for a couple of days but will be back to work by Monday. Rhett throws the essentials in a duffle and tosses it in his back seat. Humming a Merle Haggard song, Rhett turns onto a street he knows by now. He puts the car in park and looks up at the building.

He should apologize to Link, he knows. This might be a good way to. Then they can go back to normal. Rhett nods to himself.

He puts his hand on the door, but ducks lower at the sound of voices. A familiar laugh. Rhett frowns and discreetly looks to Link’s building. His breath punches out of his gut at the sight.

Link is coming out of a side door, followed by a middle-aged man in a rumpled button down with a blazer flung over his shoulder. Rhett watches with detached interest as Link runs a hand over the guy’s chest, playfully smirks at him. The guy leans down, kisses Link’s cheek, though it looked like he was going for his mouth and Link turned at the last minute. But the smile is still there. The guy cups Link’s face and gives it a quick squeeze and Link giggles.

Rhett feels like he’s watching a movie.

Finally, the guy turns and walks away, and Rhett quickly hides his face. When he looks back, Link is yawning and stretching before heading back into his apartment.

Without a word or another glance back, Rhett puts his car in drive and pulls away.

…

Rhett sleeps most of the flight. His family is surprised but delighted, and if they can see the lines around Rhett’s eyes, they lovingly say nothing. After a huge dinner and some porch time Rhett has truly missed, he borrows his brother’s car and drives out to the river. Idly, he wonders if any of the houses he passed were Link’s at one time. The need for the cleansing waters of Cape Fear is strong, and Rhett thinks nothing of stripping down to his boxers and diving in. The frigid water hits him hard, knocks the breath out of him. But he lets it claim him again, wash over him. Rid him of the bile and grime of Los Angeles. Rhett floats on his back under the stars and breathes peacefully for the first time in months.

…

He returns when he said he would, late Sunday night so he can be at work Monday. Back at it. Always back at it. But back at it with some North Carolina mud in his soul, he reasons.

He drops his bag on his bedroom floor and checks his phone. He has some updates from work, nothing disastrous, and some jokes from Chase and Alex. There’s also one missed call and a text from Link. Rhett brushes his thumb over his name but shuts his phone off.

…

The woman is still missing, thought Rhett isn’t surprised. He’ll be surprised if they find her alive at this point, and he hates how clinical the thought sounds even to his own mind. On Wednesday, there’s a knock at his door.

“Hey.” Link says when Rhett opens it. Rhett blinks at him.

“Hey. You got your glasses fixed.”

Link laughs sheepishly. “Yeah. Nice to see again.” He laments. Rhett hums. Link studies him, pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Can I, uh, come in?”

Rhett shrugs and turns away from the door, walking back into his living room.

“Sure.” 

Link wrinkles his forehead, following Rhett into the kitchen. Rhett goes back to making dinner, something he rarely kicks himself into gear to do. He doesn’t look at Link.

“I just haven’t heard from you in a few days.” Link tries, his voice questioning.

Rhett glances at him. “I was away.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Just got back Sunday night.”

Link frowns. “You’ve been back since Sunday night?”

Rhett looks at him. “Been busy.”

Link crosses his arms and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot.

“Ok. Uh, do you wanna be alone? I can go.” 

“Whatever you want.” Rhett says quietly. In his mind, he’s thousands of miles away, enveloped in the cool, welcoming arms of a murky river. Not here in LA avoiding a pair of blue eyes that make him hate himself.

“Well, ok. I’ll, ah, see you in a day or so?”

Rhett knows he’s being awful. Taking advantage. Link doesn’t know how to fight with people he cares about. Doesn’t know how to demand an apology from Rhett. Hell, if Rhett grabbed him right now, Link would probably get on his knees again. Because it’s how Link communicates. He’s comfortable there. Not like this, anxiety filling the air, communication a jumbled concept in his mind.

Rhett makes himself meet Link’s eyes. “Sure.” He smiles weakly at the shorter man.

Link chews his bottoms lip, hesitating a moment before awkwardly leaning up for a kiss. Rhett can’t right now. He turns his head, and Link backs off, startled. He rubs the back of his neck in confusion before leaving Rhett in the kitchen to listen to his fading steps.

…  
On Thursday night, Rhett is on his way home when his work cell puts out a generic text alert. Body over on Valleydale. Rhett thinks nothing of it. It wouldn’t be their shift or his type of case. They’ll call if they need. Rhett hates these mass group texts.

Rhett is about to switch it off when the rest of the info comes through.

_Male. Possibly early thirties. Possibly a prostitute._

If someone were to ask Rhett what a panic attack felt like, he could tell them. He could tell them it starts in the tips of his fingers, tingles over his palms, up his arms, seizes his entire body with terrifying stiffness while his brain races and his heart struggles to catch up.

This is the closest he has come in a long time to that feeling.

It’s not. It can’t be, he knows. But Link’s apartment isn’t too terribly far from there, is it? They did say male, didn’t they? Mid-thirties, correct? Rhett’s chest jerks as he struggles to keep his breathing in check. Calm down, he says as he makes the u-turn onto Valley.

Calm down.

A small sea of blue lights greets him. Rhett wipes his upper lip as he gets out of the car.

“What are you doing here, McLaughlin?”  
“I was in the area and go the APB. Need help?” he says, though his own voice sounds syrupy thick.

“Nah, just some hooker OD’d. Not the work of your guy, sorry you came out here.”

“No, that’s ok.” Rhett clears his throat. He feels dizzy.

“Can I—can I see?”

The officer shrugs. “Whatever.”

Rhett’s heart pounds in his ears. The officer pulls back the sheets and Rhett summons every bit of professionalism he possesses to keep his knees from buckling under his tall frame.

The victim is blonde and was clearly a meth-addict as described. Rhett thanks the officer—or at least he thinks he does—and gets back in his car. Shaky hands put the key in the ignition. Rhett grips the steering wheel, letting his head flop back.

Impulsively, Rhett takes out his phone.

…

Thirty minutes later, Rhett is sitting on a park bench when he spots Link approaching from the shadows of some canopy trees. His face is set, eyes wary and fiery. The sight of them makes Rhett’s heart clench. He doesn’t say a word as Link plops down next to him. They’re silent for a moment, Link regarding Rhett and Rhett just staring at Link.

“You don’t get to do this.” Link says quietly.

Rhett swallows.

“I don’t—I don’t get us, Rhett. But you don’t get to—

Rhett puts two fingers under Link’s chin, turns his face toward Rhett and tilts his head up. He leans down and kisses Link, slow and soft and breathless.

Link hums and returns it, and Rhett could drink him in forever. This. This is almost as clear and cleansing as Buies Creek on a cold day.

They break away gently but don’t part very far. Link’s cheeks are flushed but his eyes hold questions.

Rhett clears his throat. “I’m not an easy guy. But I’ve never met anyone like you, Link. I don’t know what that means but I just know I’ve never met anyone quite like you. I thought something happened to you tonight, it’s not important, but it…well, I didn’t much like it.”

Link listens.

“I don’t what that means, either,” Rhett laughs dryly.

Link’s eyes flicker over Rhett’s face. He shakes his head.

“You’re a frustrating man, Detective McLaughlin. I swear to god.”

He leans forward and captures the taller man’s mouth again as Rhett laugh, humming against both their lips.

…

**Once again and as always, thanks for reading <3 looking to wrap this up within the next 2-3 chapters!! You guys are the best!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

…

“You’re in a better mood lately.”

Rhett blinks at Stevie and she just glances up at him and then back down at her open file. 

“Better how?” the taller detective inquires, raising a mug to his lips. They’re at Rhett’ desk late, the office dark save for the desk lamp perched near Stevie, illuminating their faces in a faint yellow glow.

Stevie shrugs. “You just seem a little more relaxed. Are you sleeping better?”

_No, just getting laid on a regular basis. Does wonders for your health, fuck kale._

“I guess. Jen said the same thing.” Rhett responds lightly, flipping through his own papers. If only the Smiling Slasher were their only problem. But that’s yet another thing television did not prepare him for, so he and Stevie use later hours to catch up on their multiple but less urgent open cases.

“You gonna tell me who he is?”

Rhett’s eyes fly to her face. Stevie just shrugs, a small smile quirking at her lips.

“You don’t have to. He’s cute though.”

Rhett waits her out, and she finally huffs. “Come _on_ , alright, alright, I’m super nosy.”

Rhett chuckled. “He’s…”

_He’s just Link._

“…a new friend.” Rhett finishes softly.

Stevie rolls her eyes. “Because _that’s_ an answer.”

“Sorry, m’lady.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I’m just happy you if he’s the reason you don’t seem quite so…lonely.” Stevie’s voice lowers, choosing her words carefully. As if Rhett could ever be offended by her. But the absurd surrealness of the whole thing hits him and he laughs wryly inwardly, because no, Stevie would certainly not be happy for him. Hell, _he_ doesn’t even know if he’s happy for him. But it’s where he is, and like it or not, a male prostitute with a smile that makes Rhett weak has slipped in under the wire. But maybe what you _need_ isn’t always what you _want_ , and vice-versa.

Do I need Link? Do I want Link?

Or so Rhett sometimes ponders on those now rare late nights where sleep can’t find him, and he is left trying to figure out if there’s a difference between the two. Or if mutual pity can bring two people as close, if not closer, than either of those concepts.

“Rhett. Yoo-hoo.” Stevie wiggles her fingers in front of his face and laughs at his startled expression. She and the crew are about the only ones who can do it. Rhett hates being surprised or startled.

“Have you ever worked a murder case like this before?” she asks after a moment of quiet.

Rhett taps on the desk, thinking. “Not a serial murderer, exactly. Just lots of singular homicides.”

“Do you think we’ll catch him?”

Rhett looks at his right-hand woman, at her suddenly young widened eyes, and wants to tell her anything but the truth. That nearly one-third of murder cases go unsolved. That they may have more victims as this guy’s confidence skyrockets.

But this is her first big crime with such heavy media and brass involvement.

Rhett sighs. “I hope so, Stevie. I think chances are good that he’ll eventually get too cocky and screw up. But he may also get more skilled or just disappear like Jack the Ripper or Zodiac.”

Stevie’s shoulders slump dramatically. “That’s discouraging.”

“That’s the game, Stevie. Just focus on what you _can_ do Trust me.” He mumbles.

Stevie goes quiet, biting her lip and assessing her boss. “I’ve only ever heard rumors, Rhett. I mean I’ve always ignored them because I know you by now, but I guess I’m just curious.”

Rhett meets her gaze and closes the binder he’d been leafing through, green eyes still as he considered his words.

“You probably heard it was a freakout. Or that I’m not stable.”

The blonde remains silent, listening.

“I’ve had back problems most of my life. Around the time of the “incident” I’d slipped a disk and couldn’t be as active at my then-precinct. But I was also handling a narcotics ring bust that would’ve promoted me.”

He pauses, cringing slightly.

“Rhett, I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s alright, really. Nothing much to it other than it just…happened one day. I just froze during a routine raid.”

“Oh, Rhett.” Sympathy pours from Stevie’s tone and Rhett tries to let himself be soothed by it. Another Link side-effect.

He nods. “My brain slowed down and my heart went into overdrive. My chest muscles started spazzing and I just couldn’t…I had to go to the car. Like, gasping with tears in my eyes. By the way, that whole thing about public speaking being the most anxiety-inducing scenario is a freaking lie, try being 6’7 and crying in front of your co-workers.”

Stevie swallows, her own eyes nearly brimming. “I’m so sorry.”

Rhett shrugs. “Got called into the office. Mandatory therapy for three to four months. I stayed long enough to do that and thought I could tough it out after, but the atmosphere at the station…well, I transferred here and they didn’t fight me.”

Rhett smiles warmly at her. “And here I am. So I guess it worked out.”

Stevie smiles back. “I guess so.” She pats his arm.

“Now, where were we?”

…

Link thinks he might text Rhett. The tall, mysterious detective who baffles him more often than not has been a persistent hum in the back of his mind all day, and Link finds himself pleased at the thought of Netflix and crawling into bed. Strong arms and warm hands in his hair after a couple nights of faceless men and unsavory words spilling from their lips that Link has to pretend to be turned on by.

He should get a fuckin’ award. An actual “Fucking Award” Rhett would probably say, and then laugh at his own joke. The dark-haired man giggles to himself. Link yawns and raises his arms above his head, stopping mid-stretch when he hears a trash can fall over. Link’s friends told him once that he should probably carry a taser around with him. Link was always secretly more afraid he’d hurt himself with it than anyone else, so he’d taken his chances and for the most part considers himself fairly lucky.

Lucky. A strange word for his life but he supposes it’s been more true for him than most.

That’s called into question when, before Link can register it, let alone react, a figure slams into him as he rounds a corner. Something clatters to the pavement. Link looks up from his new position on the ground.

Link has been scared—truly frightened—maybe twice his entire life. When he had to move away with his mother. Without is father, away from everything he knew. The first time he was put in the back of a police car. Locking eyes with the man above him would make three. The dark orbs above him are both vacant and eerily calm at the same time. But not the kind of vacant that comes from shoving something down deep inside; it’s the unnerving vacancy of someone who never had anything there to begin with. Link’s breath catches in his chest and is sure he’s seeing death. But the man simply steps around him and bounds away into the night. Link sighs and pushes himself to his feet, compulsively dusting off cigarette butts and god knows what else is on this ground.

His hand comes away wet and Link could vomit again. Blood. There’s someone else’s goddamn blood on him and he makes a gagging noise in his throat. Was that guy hurt?

Link takes a few more steps, confused and disgusted as he surveys his shirt. He stops short, the color draining from his face. A blade glimmers under the broken neon sign of the shaggy bar nearby. Link reaches out and picks it up, dropping it immediately with a gasp upon realizing it’s covered in blood. As is the ground in the shadows leading to the dead-end alleyway between two structures.  Slowly, Link raises his eyes to a lump under some trash bags. There’s two pale legs sticking out. Link jumps back, heart pounding and feeling ill. He could scream. He wants to scream. He should call Rhett, he thinks distantly. Yes, that’s it, Rhett would know what to do. He craves his presence right now and Rhett is a cop. Detective, he absently corrects.

Think straight, Neal.

Link pulls out his phone, fingers clumsy and uncooperative.

The luck definitely runs out two seconds later, before the phone can even ring, and not for the first time in LA, Link feels claustrophobic.

“Hey. HEY.”

Link is tackled to the ground and laid flat on his stomach. Instinctively, he goes limp and compliant.

“Oh, what the fuck. What the fuck.” His captor mutters, looking down at Link and then up  at the alley. “Call the police. Someone. God.”

This isn’t happening. Link’s face and hands break out in a cool sweat. He tries to find words but can’t get them past the sandpaper edges of his throat. The next ten minutes are a complete blur of blue lights and handcuffs and being yanked to his feet.

In the back of a squad car, Link begins to shake.

…

“I’m beat.”

“You’re too young to be beat.” Rhett counters without looking up.

“Well, grandpa, you look like you could use some rest too.” Stevie says, standing to gather her things. Rhett rubs the back of his sore neck. Maybe Link would give him another backrub.

“Yeah, I’m not too far behind you. Have a good night, Stevie-girl.”

“You too, boss,” she returns affectionately.

A noise down the hall freezes them both. Stevie looks at Rhett.

“They’re brining someone in,” he mumbles. But that’s a lot of commotion for what probably is and should be just one or two officers and a late night drunk. Stevie and Rhett walk quickly down the hall, Rhett’s long strides leaving his co-worker behind. Rhett squares his shoulders and pats the cuffs at his belt. Turning down the hallway is immediate déjà vu. It also stops Rhett dead in his tracks, his shoulders dropping heavily.

Link’s eyes are frantic and shell-shocked, darting around like a trapped animal. So different than the pissed off creature from a few months ago. He lands on Rhett and this is the part that actually might be the closest to television that Rhett’s experienced. He can hear his own heartbeat thrum in the air around them, passing between him and Link like a wave. Everyone else has fallen away until a hand lands on Rhett’s shoulder.

“Rhett?”

He tears his confused gaze away from the dark-haired man being accompanied by at least five police officers. In a twisted show of anger, Rhett has to force down the desire to tell them to let go of him, you’re scaring him, you’re _hurting_ him.

But Stevie. Stevie is giving him a questioning, fearful look.

Shit. Fuck.

This is the man Stevie glanced briefly in Rhett’s apartment. And now he’s in hand-cuffs in their station.

“What, uh, what’s going on?” Rhett forces out. He feels faint.

“We caught him this time, boss. Found this guy covered in blood, standing over a dead body with a knife nearby.”

Rhett feels so disconnected from this moment that the sudden sensation of being punched in the gut caused by those words nearly garners a visceral reaction from him. His breath leaves him and he puts a hand on the wall to stay steady. But he hasn’t taken his eyes off Link’s since finding them again. Link’s lips part and he shakes his head slowly, then faster.

_No. No. NoNoNoNo._

He’s still doing it, desperately searching for Rhett as they take him away in a whirlwind. In the madness, Rhett finds his voice long enough to whisper lowly.

“Don’t fight them. I’m right behind you, y’hear?” his accent waivers as his voice nearly cracks.

Link doesn’t respond, but doesn’t stop trying to crane his neck back to glance at Rhett as the double doors swish and close, separating them.

Rhett is still in the sudden silence. Stevie, whose presence he’d forgotten, steps in front of him, raising her eyebrows.

“Rhett. Talk. Now.”

She whispers that, too. A quiet demand. The first time Rhett’s ever picked up on any kind of doubt in her tone.

Rhett turns to her, forcing his mind and body back into working order. He looks back and forth between her and the doors. He feels a massive pull towards one but stays right here, giving Stevie an apologetic expression. He meets her eye and straightens up.

“Stevie. Call everyone. I’ve got some explaining to do.”

It’s the most frightened Rhett has ever been.

…

They come, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to listen to their supervisor, their fearless, controlled leader, softly and painstakingly lay out the past few months. How he’s endangered himself, his job, and in turn, them. How he’s lied to them by omission countless times. When he’s finished, they stare in stunned silence, Jen giving him a puzzled look like she doesn’t recognize him, Chase looking at the floor and scratching the back of his head, and Stevie, worst of all, regarding him with a blank expression. He waits patiently, heart heavy in his chest. He feels old again. Tired. Rhett would not call his life up until now consequence free. But maybe there are other ways to experience consequences. Maybe it’s the way once trusted co-workers look at you now.

“So that’s where you’ve been going?” Stevie inquires flatly.

Rhett flinches. “Yeah.”

“To see a male prostitute?” Jen reiterates slowly.

Chase continues to just look uncomfortable. Rhett hates the way the easygoing, kind young man is averting his eyes.

Rhett closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“Rhett. I don’t even…this is insane. This is beyond insane. I honestly think you’ve lost your mind.” Stevie says.

“This—this just isn’t like you, dude.” Jen says. “Like, what? Rhett McLaughlin, abrasive country cop from North Carolina, has been banging a prostitute on the side.”

The taller man sighs and makes sure he looks at each of them. “I owe you all more apologies than I’ll ever be able to say. I have put mine and this precinct’s reputation in danger. But they have the wrong man.”

Dead silence. They’re all looking at him like he’s crazy, but Rhett hasn’t felt this sure and calm since the evening started.

“Link did not do this.” Stevie rolls her eyes at his comfortable use of Link’s name.

 “Did you ever believe he was a suspect and not tell us?” She says harshly. “Did you ever think to share this information with your team? Hey guys, I met a dark-haired man in his thirties who knows a lot about prostitution around the same time a dark-haired man in his thirties started murdering prostitutes?! God, Rhett, are you giving him _money_? To _sleep_ with you?” The disgust and disappointment is evident in her voice. Chase clenches his jaw and Jen looks away, ashamed, probably thinking about how one of her law-enforcement career mentors has been soliciting the company of prostitutes. What a cliché.

At a towering 6’7, Rhett has never felt so small.

“There’s a lot I still can’t explain, Stevie. Things ya’ll deserve that I don’t even know myself. But I have to get to work on this. If you would all like to distance yourselves from me, I would completely understand. I fully plan to hand in my resignation after—

“Don’t do that.”

Quiet. Soft. Coming from Chase. It’s the first time he’s looked Rhett in the eye since he got there. Rhett stares at him.

“Don’t. I—I’m not saying I’m not mad. Or let down. But…you’re a good guy, Rhett. I’ll follow you anywhere, man. Just don’t keep us out of the loop again.”

Rhett’s heart clenches and hurts as Jen nods slightly. Support he doesn’t deserve.

“I’m not happy with you, Rhett. But I don’t think you deserve that.” Stevie offers, her voice softening ever so slightly. Rhett will take it.

He lets out a breath. “Ok. Let’s profile our suspect.”

…

Rhett gets out a new whiteboard and details everything he knows about Link to the crew, trying not to think about Link’s smaller form in a cold cell. Jen and Chase cross-reference everything he knows…which is disturbingly little, it turns out.

“Do you even know his last name?” Stevie inquires, annoyed. Rhett swallows, because no, no he actually doesn’t. Fuck.

“Ok, how about where he grew up? What brought him here?”

Rhett bites his lip at the memory. “He says he’s from Buies Creek.”

Stevie stares at him. “Rhett. You’re kidding. Oh my god. He really got to you, didn’t he?!”

Rhett glares at her. “The fuck does that mean?”

Stevie rubs her eyes. “As big as Los Angeles is, and you manage to meet someone else from your tiny little southern town like six states away?!”

She shakes her head incredulously at him. “Rhett. Snap out of it. What is with you?”

_I was scared to death of doing the same thing every day until I died, probably alone and with my gun in my hand. But then he came along like a goddamn missing piece that’s nothing like the rest of the puzzle but still fits. Is that what you want to hear, Stevie?_

“I don’t know.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that. Rhett, I just, I don’t know what to make of this. Lying to us? Conducting your own side-investigations on a high-profile case? Having a relationship with a prostitute?!”

Rhett opens and closes his mouth helplessly. She deserves better and he’ll give it when he can.

But then she scoffs. “Well, you’re certainly not the first cop to do so. And I promise you you’re definitely not *his* first cop.” She adds with some venom.

Rhett sets his jaw and winces. He deserves it, he knows.

“I know I have a lot of work to do on us, Stevie. And I’ll fix it. I promise. Thank you for your help.”

She studies him with hurt that slowly subsides. “I guess you’d do the same for one of us.”

It’s good enough for now.

…

Around 1am, Rhett sneaks as conspicuously as his size allows down to the solitary confinement holding cells reserved for violent suspects as they await transport to wherever they’re going next. The solid, thick door opening and closing casts a thin triangle of light on the floor, trailing up to a cell near the foot of the stone stairs. A mess of dark hair lifts, revealing squinting eyes that take in Rhett dully. Rhett’s unsteady legs find their way down. In front of Link’s cell, he drops to his knees. He studies Link, Rhett's lips parted and chest rising in shallow breaths.

“Link?” Rhett’s voice is small.

The man drops his head again from his place sitting at the back wall, body balled up. They haven’t even removed his cuffs, so his hands are bent behind him.

“Link, look at me. Hey, look at me.”

Link slowly lifts his head again to reveal his ashen face, letting his head rest against the wall. He closes his eyes and swallows, and when he opens them again, they’re brighter and clear in recognition.

“There you are.” Rhett mumbles, smiling sweetly.

“There you are.” He says to himself for reassurance.

…

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“Again.”

Link whines and bangs his head against the back of the cement wall.

 _“Again.”_ Rhett reiterates.

“Why’d I ever think your “cop voice” was sexy?” Link grumbles. He sighs.

“I was walking down the fuckin’ street—

“What were you doing there?” Rhett interjects patiently.

Link makes a frustrated sound. “Working, Rhett.”

“What kind of work?” Rhett continues smoothly. He has shucked off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, pacing in front of Link’s temporary cell. They don’t have much time. Link will be moved soon, most likely to a state prison out of Rhett’s reach to await a trial that will determine whether Link gets a life sentence or a needle in his arm.

Link rubs his eyes. “I’m a sex worker.”

Rhett halts his pacing and thinks. “That’s better than saying prostitute, but I wonder if escort would sound better?” he mumbles.

“Rhett.” Link says tiredly. “No one’s kidding themselves about what I was out there doing. Stop trying to dress it up.”

“I wish you’d listen to me and take this more serious.”

Link’s eyes flash. He gets up and goes to the bars, wrapping his fingers around the outdated steel.

“I may be about to go down for a crime I didn’t do, man. No one’s taking this more serious than me.”

Mere inches away, Rhett studies the man’s worn face. The lines around his eyes, the tight drawing of his mouth.

“I know. I’m sorry. But Link, you’re going to be asked these things over and over again and consistency in your story is key. We don’t have much time.” 

“I’ve been to jail.” Link says lamely. Rhett stares at him.

“You’ve never been to _prison_ , Link. Entirely different ball game and entirely different world. I won’t be able to—you can’t—” Rhett sighs in frustration and runs his hands through his hair. The few times Rhett has seen the kinds of places they take people like Link had changed the detective. It was a pit devoid of any hope, and Rhett had never before felt such a disarming lack of God’s presence. The thought of Link being there made him absolutely sick.

Link swallowed, and even behind the fire, Rhett could see simmering doubt and fear. Impulsively, he covered Link’s hand on the bar with one of his own.

“Just try to do what I ask, ok?”

Link bites his lower lip and nods.

In the dark basement, on opposite sides of the bars, the two men feel very far from Buies Creek.

...

“Positive ID on the working girl that went missing.” Stevie says as Rhett ascends the stairs and closes the door—and himself—off from Link. Rhett cringes, though he had been prepared for as much.

“Usual MO?”

Stevie nods. “Yep. Face butchered, throat cut, all that. She’d been dead for a few days.”

Rhett’s mind races. A few days. Had Link been with him? Was there any possible shot at an alibi? But there was Rhett’s trip, the vacation he didn’t bring Link on. That could create a problem for an alibi.

“Rhett?” Stevie tapped his head with her pen.

“Hmm?”

“I said, Chase and Jen are trying to find her family.”

“Ok. Let me know what they come up with.” Rhett scolds himself for the distant tone he knows is present in his voice. Thinking about how to save Link while a family may get the worst news of their life.

“How—how is he?” Stevie inquires awkwardly. Stevie had made sure to stick to the case and not reference the more personal aspects, but she’s regarding Rhett curiously.

“He’s…holding up ok, I guess.”

Stevie nods slowly and looks him up and down. Rhett can guess the conversation ahead.

“Help me out here, Rhett.”

Rhett sighs for the thousandth time and sits on the corner of his desk. How to explain Link. How to explain the sensation of just knowing that someone is meant to be in your life?

“He just…happened, Stevie.” He explains quietly. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Stevie sighs wearily. “Ok. I can accept that. But why don’t you think he had anything to do with this?”

Rhett’s eyes soften involuntarily. He snorts gently. “Because he puked on my shoes when I showed him a crime scene photo and faints when he sees needles and blood. When we watch Game of Thrones, he has to--” Rhett stops there and fiddles with his tie. He’s said too much. Gone to a difficult place.

Stevie studies her boss. Maybe it’s the fondness that has seeped into his tone, or the gentle expression on his face. She simply nods and turns away.

She knows when this whole thing crashes, and it will crash hard, she’s going to have to be there for Rhett.

…

According to Alex, the death timeline is not extremely helpful. It’s too difficult to pinpoint exactly when she would have been killed.

“Remind me, the killer left or right handed?” Rhett asks the young crime scene tech.

“Uh, left handed.”

Okay, so that’s no good.

“The cuts are very precision.”

“How do you mean?” Rhett knits his brow.

Alex clears his throat. “Well, when you get past the dirt and state of decomposition we found most of them in, the injuries themselves are clean and smooth. Severe but smooth. No jagged skin tissue around the edges of the wounds. No sawing motions.”

Rhett considers this. “So he’s either fairly strong or knows what he’s doing?”

Alex shrugs. “That’s not my field. But I’d say you’re dealing with someone pretty skilled.”

Rhett thanks Alex.

Link hates sharp things. He isn’t good with them at all. Rhett rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration. All these things, all these details Rhett knows about Link, and they’re completely useless. He can’t prove any of this and none of it actually means Link didn’t do it. A memory of Link in Rhett’s kitchen, looking away as Rhett bandages a small cut and asks Link how he managed to do this with a butter knife flashes behind Rhett’s eyelids. 

When the detective pulls his hands away, they’re slightly damp.

…

Look at files. Nod off for a few minutes. Startle himself awake. Try to eat. So goes Rhett’s routine. The tall man inspects the whiteboard in front of him, willing lines to magically show up and connect for him. Rhett leans back in his chair and stares up at the buzzing florescent light above his desk. When had this happened? Is this what his career has culminated in? Rhett has not truly wanted anything in a long time, content just to be content. But he wants, without a shadow of a doubt, the dark-haired prostitute that has sprung up like an unseasonably warm winter day. He still wishes he wasn’t a prostitute, though. Oh well. Link probably wishes he wasn’t a cop, Rhett muses.

Rhett lets his back crack as he sits upright again, taking out the forgotten suspect sheets. He gets to a place where a torn corner is stuck in a staple. Right. Stevie told him about that.

“Chase! Can I get an extra copy of my stack, please?” The young man strolls up to Rhett’s desk a moment later, holding out new printouts. He makes eye contact with Rhett and actually smiles, and Rhett is glad for the progress. He quickly becomes occupied again, flipping through pages, eyes scanning faces and names, both ones he’d managed to get to and ones he had not. This was going to take forever, he thought wearily. The evening was wearing on. Only a few remained in the office. Rhett chewed his pen and let his mind idle as he flipped to yet another page. Finally, as the Los Angeles sun retires, Rhett’s exhausted eyes scream at him to call it quits or get the pair of glasses he’s been avoiding. He doesn’t recognize these faces, and Rhett notes that this is the page he had lost. He resolves to get through it before he goes to visit Link. Maybe sneak him a cup of coffee. Extra sugar, Rhett reminds himself with a small smile.

Rhett’s green eyes scan the page and that’s when the bottom falls out. Fourth row from bottom, middle photo.

Charles Lincoln Neal. Born June 1st, 1978.

Rhett’s falling. There’s nothing to land on and his mouth has gone so bone dry he feels it will bleed if he tries to speak.

The name isn’t familiar. Charles Lincoln. Doesn’t roll off his tongue the way “Link” does. His face is rounder with youth in this photo. Rhett recognizes it as a juvenile detention photo. But he’d know those blue orbs and stubborn set of the jaw anywhere. Rhett doesn’t remember standing, but he knows he must have because he’s moving, Chase giving him a concerned look and Jen saying his name. But Rhett is somewhere far away. Under water. Cape Fear River, maybe, and maybe he never left and made the horrible mistake of moving here at all.

Rhett flings the door open and gets down the stairs, striding with purpose to Link’s cell. Link sits up in bed at the noise, smiling when he sees Rhett, but it fades quickly, a panicked look taking over instead.

“Rhett? What is it? What—”

The detective steps up to the bars and holds up the sheet. It’s shaking. Link knits his brow but his face goes slack in realization. He holds up his hands.

“Rhett.” He rasps.

“Charles Lincoln Neal. Born 1978. I didn’t know your first name was Charles.” Rhett says casually. “But then again, I also didn’t know your last name.” Rhett laughs humorlessly. The color drains from Link’s face.

“I can explain.” He tries.

“When did you take it? The paper? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t see it eventually?” Rhett asks, then holds up a hand to stop Link’s response.

“Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does.” Link says urgently, pressing up to the bars. There are tears in his voice and Rhett feels sick at how it still tugs at his heartstrings even now. But he’s gone into detective mode to disconnect from his world crumbling around him.

“Rhett. I was telling you the truth. I was born in North Carolina and was there until I was six. We moved around a lot. I just—I just didn’t tell you that we moved to this area when I was a teenager. Rhett. I didn’t lie. I wouldn’t lie to you, I just, when I saw I’d turned up in your search results, I panicked. There were some things about my past I knew would put me at the top of the suspect list and there were things I wasn’t ready for you to know. And I wasn’t wrong. I mean, look at me now.”

Rhett remains unfazed. “This is a mugshot. You were in juvie.”

Link cringes and sighs. “Yeah. I—I got into some things I shouldn’t have, Rhett. We moved around so much, I never made friends, I didn’t have my dad—

“Jesus Christ, could you fit our profile more perfectly?” Rhett interrupts. He sees the man in front of him anew. Troubled past. Juvenile record. Lives in the area. Charming but socially aloof. Odd hours work schedule. Hell, Link even fits the physical description. Rhett’s stupid. He’s so fucking stupid and he might pass out.

“Rhett,” Link says again, reaching for the detective. Rhett snarls and reaches through the bars to grab Link, yanking him against the bars with bruising force. Rhett’s shoulders heave with his angry breaths, their eyes inches away. Blue pools Rhett once thought he could swim in forever, and they might have been the last thing eight women ever saw.

“You tell me the goddamn fucking truth and if I find out you’re lying I’ll strap you onto the injection table myself.” 

Link’s eyes well up. “I didn’t, Rhett. I didn’t. I couldn’t.” He begins to sob, and Rhett loosens his hold, letting Link drop heavily against the bars and to the floor. Rhett tries. He tries hard to reconcile the man in front of him, who has eaten his cereal, danced clumsily with him, rubbed his back, slept in his fucking bed, with the murderer who has committed crimes Rhett will never be able to get out of his head. Air. He needs air. He turns on his heel, leaving Link on the floor. When he comes back up, the crew looks at him, concerned and expectant. Rhett waves a hand at them. Not now. He goes to the bathroom and leans over the sink, cupping cool water in trembling hands to splash on his face.

_“Cagney and Lacy, huh?”_

_“Law and Order, huh?” Link scoffs back._

What have I done? Rhett says to himself, the empty room, everyone and everything.

…

“I fell for it, Stevie. How’d I let this happen?” Rhett whispers into his whiskey glass. He’s sitting at Stevie’s kitchen table, nursing his third whiskey. Instead of the light, euphoric, forget everything going on sensation he’d been chasing, the detective’s temples throb and his heart feels heavy in his gut. He feels lonely and old and tired.

“Oh, Boss.” Stevie sighs, reaching over to the man’s hand but thinking better of it, aborts the movement.

“I mean, my god, of all the ways to fuck up.” Rhett rubs his eyes.

“You’re not a fuck up, Rhett.”

“What you all must think of me.”

“Rhett, you were honest when it would’ve benefited you much more to lie. That’s the mark of a good person at heart. It took you a while, but to be fair, I know you wouldn’t have let anyone else get hurt if you honestly believed for a second that he had done this.”

Stevie pauses.

“Do you?”

Rhett looks at her. “Do I what?”

“Even now, do you believe Link is our murderer?”

Rhett taps his empty glass on the table. “I don’t know.”

“Forget about the fact that you’re hurt right now. In your detective’s head space, profile him. Is he our guy?”

Rhett swallows. “No. He fits it in so many ways, Stevie, but I just know. I’ve been in the room with murderers. He’s not a murder.”

As soon as Rhett says it, his shoulders rise slightly, as if unburdened. But his stomach still feels sick and his pride is down for the count.

When he looks back up at Stevie, the blonde is smiling slightly. He reaches out his hand and she meets him halfway.

…

Rhett stands once more in front of the metal cage holding Link. The shorter man stays at the other end of his cell, regarding Rhett warily.

“I believe you.” He says softly, barely echoing off the walls, but Link’s eyes snap up as if Rhett had screamed it at him. Link gets to his feet and slowly goes to Rhett. This close, Rhett can see the blankness in his blue eyes, the disheveled hair and gaunt cheeks. There’s a bit of stubble forming, too. It suits him. Gets rid of the baby face that Rhett knows attracts so many customers.

“You mean that?” Link’s voice wavers. 

Rhett reaches up through the bars, moves his hand to cup Link’s face comfortingly. The man closes his eyes and leans into it desperately.

“You gotta talk to me, Link.” Rhett says, firmly but quietly.

Link swallows and opens his eyes, staring into Rhett’s eyes with a seriousness and intuitiveness Rhett’s only gotten glimpses of until now. It’s like his character has dropped and Rhett is very interested in the person in front of him.”

“Ok.”

…

Link sits on the floor on one side of the cell and Rhett sits next to him on the other side as Link quietly tells Rhett his story. How Link’s mother moved them around so much that by the time they finally settled in California, Link was a temperamental, socially awkward teenager.

“I got busted for breaking and entering at seventeen, prostitution for the first time at eighteen.” Link tells him. Rhett cringes.

“You were a kid.” Rhett states, and his mind goes through the implications of their first meeting, the long-practiced skills Link had used on him. They’d come from pain in youth and the detective feels gross and guilty again.

Link shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah. But that did it. She left. I was legally and adult and Mom couldn’t…she’d always had emotional issues, and I think I was just too much.”

Rhett stares at him incredulously. “She abandoned you.”

Link sighs. “She loved me, Rhett. You don’t understand, you weren’t there.”

Rhett holds up his palms. “You’re right.”

“I don’t know where she is now, but…I love her very much.”

Rhett smiles sadly. “Okay.”

Link nods. “I, uh, tried to go to college.”

Rhett is taken aback. “No kidding?”

“Nope. Tried for engineering at one point but I just…couldn’t keep my act together. I’ve never felt like I fit in here and college was no different, y’know?”

Rhett huffs. “Yeah. I know. What did you go for?”

“Engineering, if you can believe it.”

And Rhett can. Link’s over-thinking, analytical mind and deep intellect hidden behind a catlike smile.

“And you?” Link quirked an eyebrow.

Rhett’s eyes flicker over his face. “Not much to tell.”

“I doubt that.”

“Small-town kid becomes big city cop. Gets publicly shamed at work, gets transferred. Has a thing for sassy, exasperating prostitutes.”

“We need to be our own sitcom.”

Rhett chuckles, and then they’re quiet. After a beat, Link looks at Rhett.

“Am I getting out of here, Rhett?”

The taller man locks eyes with him.

“You are getting out of here. That I can promise you, Link.”

…

Rhett prays for a break. A something.

But as with most adages, the phrase “be careful what you wish for” rings particularly true. Link’s salvation comes in the form of someone else’s worst nightmare.

Jen rushes up to Rhett, breathless and wide-eyed. Rhett jumps up.

“Jen, what is it?”

“There’s been another one.”

The room goes dead quiet. Rhett stares at her. “What? Where?”

“Over where that gimmicky drive-in movie theater was a few years ago. Same M.O. Same everything.”

Rhett feels the strangest mixture of euphoria and surrealness as they make their way there. Rhett feels a release in his chest that makes him hate himself.

It’s not pretty. This poor girl is freshly dead, body barely stiffened, fear still present in her lifeless eyes. Rhett sighs at the sight of her. Jens’ right. This is their guy’s work, to the T.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

…

The brass stopped caring about Link as soon as their new victim popped up. It took little arguing to convince Rhett’s boss that there was no way this murder was such a perfect replica without being the work of their Slasher. He signed Link’s release papers while on the phone with the press, waving his secretary away as soon as it was done.

Rhett is waiting out back when Link steps out into the sunshine for the first time in a week. Rhett licks his lips nervously as they study each other. Link takes a shaky step p forwards and that’s all it takes. Rhett gathers him up and kisses him, squeezes him tight and kisses him, laughs and kisses him.

Link’s smile is even brighter than before, eyes the perfect shade of North Carolina.

…

“No.”

Rhett says, sternly.

“Hear us out.”

“No.”

Rhett crosses his arms over his chest and squares his broad shoulders. Jen, Chase, and Stevie regard him impatiently.

“It’s not a bad idea and we’re desperate here, Rhett. You know we are,” Stevie sighs. Rhett knows she’s right. But their idea. Their plan of using Stevie or Jen as bait…no. Rhett will not risk a member of his team.

“There’d be undercovers everywhere. I’d be wired. You’d have full visual.”

“A million things could go wrong, are you nuts?!” Rhett answers, looking at each of them like they’ve grown an extra head.

Quiet. “I already got permission.”

Stevie whispers. Rhett’s gaze lands on her.

“What.”

She meets his eyes. “I already got permission. I want you to head it. You’re supposed to as my direct supervisor, but someone else can.”

Rhett feels punched in the gut. “Stevie. You went over my head.”

“I didn’t want to, Rhett! Please believe me, I—I knew you’d say no. That you’d never put me in danger or ask me to do it. But this guy is out there hurting people and we all feel fucking useless. We gotta do something different, Rhett.”

The taller detective’s jaw clenches. He’s hurt and angry. But he also knows he has no right to complain about her keeping things from him or doing what she feels is right. Not after the stunt he pulled. Plus, it’s a sign of growth. His crew is becoming more comfortable and experienced.

“Fine. But I’m there the entire time.”

Stevie smiles gratefully. “Of course.”

…

“So when’s the operation go down?” Link asks excitedly, plopping down on the bed and bouncing himself as Rhett undresses for bed. The man has been enjoying his release and new time as a free man by staying with Rhett, and the taller man is surprised but secretly pleased.

Rhett rolls his eyes. “The “operation” goes down tomorrow night at ten.”

“That’s a good time.” Link says. “Greenview will be too busy, try the docks. And you don’t need to be there, you—”

“I know, I scream “cop” as you’ve established.”

Link laughs and wraps his arms around Rhett, pulling him onto his back on the bed so Link is looking down at him upside-down.

“She’ll be fine. You’ll see to it.”

Rhett smiles and closes his eyes as Link leans down to kiss him.

It feels like everything Rhett has missed in the past week.

…

“Safe word? Hidden taser? Wire working?”

“Check, check, and check.” Stevie says, Rhett thinking of more things.

“You know where to stay visible, right?”

“Yes, Rhett. I’ll bail if something doesn’t feel right. Promise.”

“I could’ve done it.” Jen mumbles.

“Hey, dibs on next one,” Chase calls out. “I’d make a fetching hooker.”

“Gag me.” Jen scrunches up her face.

“Okay, okay.” Rhett says. “Stevie, you ready? Everyone ready?”

They get into position and Stevie walks off to hers.

…

“Anything?” Rhett says into his walkie.

“Nothing.” Stevie responds.

“Ditto.” Says Jen.

Rhett sighs. There hasn’t even been the hint of anything wrong.

“Maybe he made us.” Chase suggests in Rhett’s earpiece. Rhett hums. Maybe they weren’t as inconspicuous as they’d thought. Rhett’s phone buzzes.

_Any luck?-L_

_Nada_ , Rhett texts back.

_Pfft, I’d have gotten him by now. You should’ve sent me.-L_

Rhett rolls his eyes.

_Yeah, because that would definitely get suspicion off of you. Text you later, we’re about to pack it in._

_Careful-L._

Rhett smiles slightly. It feels nice, having someone to tell him to be careful. Rhett raises the mouthpiece to his lips and is about to round them up when Stevie whispers into her piece.

“Guys. I think I’ve got something. Gonna go quiet and make the round again.”

Rhett scans the rooftop and spots one of their lookouts. Sure enough, he looks at Rhett and gives him a signal. Rhett waits.

“I can see her.” Chase says.

“Keep eyes on her, everyone,” Rhett reiterates. He can hear only his own breathing now.

“Shit. FUCK.”

A million things happen at once. “Someone. Update me, say something!”

“Lost visual!” is the last thing Rhett hears before he swears and is sprinting towards Stevie’s area. Commotion, a yelp, scuffling sounds in his ear.

“Rhett! I’ve got him, I—” silence.

“Hang on, Stevie!” Rhett picks up his pace. He catches up to her on the ground, crouched down and holding her wrist. Rhett kneels down in front of her.

“Stevie, are you alright?” he asks urgently, praying there’s not a terrible slash across her face. She only looks annoyed and slightly in pain, however.

“I’m ok. He went that way, but Rhett, wait for backup—”

Rhett takes off, radioing everyone else his location. Footsteps, faster than his are ahead of him, but he’s gaining on them.

Months. Months of bodies and stress and heartbreak and failure. Rhett’s blood pounds in his ears. He can see him now, a dark figure jumping up and onto a loading dock.

Years of not good enough ringing in his ears.

“Stop!” Rhett booms, drawing his weapon for the first time in a while. His back screams at him and his lungs burn, but Rhett is up and on the raised platform in a flash. The moon casts a faint glow and Rhett draws a quick breath. The guy’s face is uncovered, and Rhett can see half of a Caucasian face, dark eyes. Dark hair.

He nearly misses the knife in the guy’s hand until it’s being thrust forward. Rhett can hear the pounding of Chase’s and several other boots approaching fast as the blade sinks halfway into his shoulder. Rhett’s breath leaves him all at once, but his adrenaline kicks him into gear in time to grab the man by the shirt and topple them both over the edge of the platform. They hit the ground and Rhett is looking up at the night sky when three offices pile onto their suspect.

“Rhett? Rhett?! Oh god, Stevie, he’s hurt. His shoulder, look!”

Shoulder and back, Rhett absently thinks. He feels serene even as his heart pounds.

Jen takes off her coat and presses it to the wound. “Rhett? It’s ok. Rhett?”

“I’m ok. I’m fine.” Rhett’s mouth forms the words but they continue to look down at him with panic in their eyes.

“Hey, the ambulance is here. Stevie’s gonna ride with you, okay? But we’re right behind you. Rhett?”

White lights and fast movements fill the detective’s vision. At some point, Rhett closes his eyes and thinks he might be back in his apartment, sunk into soft sheets and listening to a slightly twangy laugh fill the room.

…

The blade didn’t hit any major arteries and Rhett manages to get away with fifty stitches and a slightly sore back.

“Rhett?”

Stevie says gently from his hospital bedside. Rhett lolls his head towards her without opening his eyes.

“Can I call someone? Your parents? Your brother?”

Rhett shakes his head. “Nah, they’re too far away and they’ll just worry. I’m going home tomorrow anyway.”

Stevie wants to protest but doesn’t say anything. After a moment, she says, “Link?”

Rhett opens one eye. “No.”

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Rhett tries to tell her no, go home, you’ve worked so hard, I’m so glad you’re okay, but the painkillers are rocking him to sleep and he lets them, Stevie curled up in the chair beside him.

…

“I’m just saying, that was a little dramatic for a cut.” Chase says, licking his stirring spoon.

Rhett snorts. “First off, fifty stitches is not a cut and ya’ll are the ones that made me go to the hospital.”

“We were just concerned about your old man back.”

Rhett laughs and sips his coffee. “So, update me. They won’t let me back at work until Monday.”

Chase hums. “That sucks, man. You actually catch the bastard and they won’t let you do the fun parts.”

Rhett shrugs as best he can. “As long as he’s where he needs to be, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad it’s over. Plus, Stevie and you guys deserve the credit for this one. ”

“Well, he won’t confess but they’ve got him six ways to Sunday. Jen said he just…stared through the two-way mirror the whole time. Dude was a paramedic.”

“One of ours?!” Rhett says.

Chase shivers. “No, thankfully. But—boss, on your left!” Chase’s eyes go wide as he catches sight of something just over Rhett’s shoulder.

Rhett spins in his chair and just barely dodges a swing from Link.

“Hey! Easy!” Rhett hisses, reflexes acting quickly and catching Link’s wrist to twist behind his back to still the man’s movements.

“Don’t tell me “easy”!” Link says, getting free of Rhett’s hold. He’s spitting mad, blue eyes blazing, cheeks flushed a light pink, black hair messy. All Rhett can think is that he looks pretty like this.

“You were in the goddamn hospital?!”

Rhett winces and looks around the cafe. Chase is looking back and forth between them with wide eyes. Rhett waves him away. “Uh, I’ll call you later, Chase,” he explains as he puts a hand on Link’s arm and leads him outside.

“How do you even know that?” Rhett says as Link jerks out of his grasp.

“Never mind that, man, why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?! I tried to call you when I heard ya’ll might have caught the guy.”

Rhett sighs. “Baby, I’m sorry, but—

“Oh don’t. Don’t you even. _Baby_. Geez. Look, I know you think I’m only good for rounding up witnesses or sucking your dick, but—

“Hey.” Rhett says softly, turning Link’s chin with one hand to look at him.

“Easy. Seriously, Link, I haven’t had one free minute the past two days. I should’ve called you. I’m sorry, okay?”

Link studies his face and though the pout on his lips remains, the rest of him relaxes marginally. Link sighs. “You can’t do that, Rhett. I know we don’t exactly have rules to this thing,” he says, motioning between them, “but you can’t just go radio silent. I was scared.” He crosses his arms over his torso. Rhett swallows.

“I had a massive panic attack at work, okay?”

Link blinks at him.

“It was in front of everyone and it was super embarrassing and it’s why I transferred here. Everything’s worked out, but I hate people seeing me weak. I just didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Link stares at him for a long time. “Where is it?” he asks softly.

Rhett unbuttons his collar to reveal a healing wound. Link goes a few shades paler but holds up. Later, his mouth traces the outline of it with a quiet desperation in the dark.

“Don’t do it again, Rhett McLaughlin.” He whispers against Rhett’s lips. Rhett captures it.

…

Rhett returns to work while things are still in a buzzing uproar.

“Did you see my interview?!” Jen says, punching Rhett lightly on his good shoulder. Rhett smiles. “You did great, kiddo. You all did. Especially you, superstar.” He encircles Stevie with one arm and kisses the side of her head. She laughs.

“I’ve had enough media and serial killers for one lifetime. Remind me never to apply for your job, Rhett. Glad our fearless leader is back,” she says, giving him a squeeze.

Rhett hums and goes to his chair. His phone rings off the hook for the next eight hours.

…

The trial won’t be for several more months, but there’s a lull over the precinct and area, as if everyone can just tell thing might be ok now. Chase, Stevie, and Jen go to some new club and Rhett politely declines before they can even begin to insist that he join them. When they go, he takes out his phone.

…

Rhett walks into the familiar bar area and looks around until he spots a familiar figure sitting at a stool at the end of the bar. Rhett slides in next to him.

“Can I buy you a drink, stranger?”

Link snorts. “God, you’re cheesy. Did you invite me to the bar we met at on purpose?”

Rhett shrugs. “Maybe.”

Link smiles into his red cocktail. Rhett watches him fondly, reviewing the last few months of his life. What is change? What does it mean to make change? Is it always for the better, and is what you want always the right thing? Rhett doesn’t know. But he’s happy to exist right here in this space with Link. The shorter man seems to read his thoughts.

“I can’t promise I can be what you want, Rhett.” He whispers sadly.

Rhett shrugs again. “I know I definitely can’t. But how about we just…start right here?”

Link smiles and leans in. Rhett meets him halfway and presses their lips together. He tastes like cherries.

“How about your place instead?” Link mumbles when they break. Rhett swipes a thumb over his cheek.

“I recently hurt my back taking down a dangerous criminal. Go easy on me.”

Link grins wickedly. “Absolutely not.”

…

 

**A/N: Annnnd…that’s a wrap, folks! So, a few things. I hope this chapter/ending didn’t seem half-assed or disappointing. This is my first fic like this and I’m still very much learning. There’s a lot of things I wish I could do different, but overall, I’m quite happy with it! I hope ya’ll had has much fun reading as I did writing, and I can’t wait to do more. I have appreciated all of the kind words and comments more than I could ever say. You don’t know what they meant. Thank you so much for reading <3**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
